The Sword And The Sorcerer
by 50caliberchaos
Summary: Magic as an art is dangerous to practice and impossible to master. Finding himself in a world still reeling from the impact of people like him, Harry must take great pains and even greater risks to ensure his own survival and protect his loved ones.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Welcome one and all to what I hope will be another fun story. For those of you who don't know me, most of you I'd imagine, I'm 50caliberchaos and this is my favorite site on the interwebs.

I don't have much to say about this story as of yet. It's something I've been working on/thinking about for a fair amount of time, and given the title, some of you might catch the blatant, obvious, and otherwise brazen reference to a certain tabletop role playing game. That is about as intentional as humanly possible, both because the story revolves around the titular character class and because I've taken the mechanics of the world in which that kind of character exists and applied them to Harry Potter... but you'll see that in chapters to come.

Anyway, thanks for stopping in and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

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Prologue – The Failed Experiment

"I told you to get out!" the fat man with the hairy upper lip hissed, throwing open the screen door set in the back of the squat little house on Privet Drive. The door slapped against the side of the house with a crash as the fat man wrenched himself around, throwing the boy in his grip through the portal and into the tiny backyard. "Now stay out there," growled the man in the door, "and if I hear so much as a peep out of you, I'll turn your room back into the cupboard and you can stay out here. Understand?"

Harry Potter managed to stumble down the steps and avoid flopping into the dirt. He planted his feet and instead dropped to his hands and knees on the sparse carpet of neglected grass. His glasses dropped from his face and, by some stroke of misfortune, clattered against one of the only rocks in the yard. He turned around to face the man behind him and nodded.

"Yes uncle," Harry said. "I won't make any noise.

"Good," Vernon huffed. He ran his hand over his face, wiping away the caustic grimace as if by magic and replacing it with a jovial, if saccharin, facade. "Petunia!" he called into the house, turning around and stepping back inside. "Have you gotten our guest his beverage yet?" The door shut and clicked locked behind him.

Turning to look for his glasses, Harry heard Petunia answer, though he payed no attention. Spotting his glasses and picking up the frame, he took stock of the damage. He shook his head, being careful not to jostle the spectacles, lest the thin crack running through the lens expand and shatter the glass altogether. He quickly looked over his shoulder at the house, still crouching as if to avoid a predator, then scanned the top of the privacy fence enclosing him in the cell of a yard.

"Nobody around," muttered the nine-year-old, "and..." he pressed the glass gingerly between his palms and thought for a moment. His hands grew warm as the small reservoir of energy in his chest bubbled and drained only the slightest bit. Harry took a deep breath and pulled his hand away, holding the flawless pair of glasses. Smirking he put them on and stood up, confident that his uncle had not seen the display of his special talent.

Harry had no idea why he could do the things he did. Fixing broken glasses, making the gruel fed to him taste like savory delights, or warming himself on cool nights when his ratty blanket just wasn't enough all came as naturally to him as breathing. _Damned magic,_ he had heard his uncle scream one night when Harry loosed a sneezing fit on his chubby cousin Dudley, very much in self defense of course. Regardless, that had been a most unpleasant night and since then Harry had made no small effort to keep his magical talent as secret as he could from his aunt and uncle.

Knowing what happened when his aunt entertained anyone, much less someone to whom the family wanted to endear themselves, Harry suspected that he was in for a long and lonely afternoon. Walking to the small bush, long since left to slowly fade from neglect in the corner of the yard, Harry knelt and reached under the thorny plant, feeling along the ground until his fingers lighted across the small metal box. Rusted nearly beyond use and rife with sharp edges that stuck out at odd angles, the box looked up at Harry as the boy held it carefully and undid the creaky latch.

Opening the lid, Harry remembered back to the day he'd first found the box, cast off like garbage in his neighbor's yard. He'd had no use for it then, but Harry had later found a purpose for the tiny chest and hid it behind the dying rosebush to keep his only treasured possession safe. Like his talents, Harry had no idea from where the necklace originally came, but when he'd found the silver trinket jammed at the bottom of a trash bin, Harry had quickly slipped the little piece of jewelry into his pocket and hidden it behind the bush. Every now and again he'd risk a peek at it, fully aware that he'd never see it again if his aunt, uncle, or cousin found it, but too enamored with the charm to leave it to be forgotten.

He stared down at the silver pendant on the wispy string, admiring the craftsmanship and detail the jeweler had poured into the little metal eagle, and for a moment it distracted him from the dreary day and the clouds that had settled over Privet.

"Hello," the voice tinkled like a bell.

Harry started and closed his hands around the necklace's charm. He cast about for the source of the noise and spotted the silvery grey eyes peering out at him from a hole at the bottom of the fence.

"What have you got there?" asked the girl, poking her head and shoulders through the hole and looking at Harry's hands.

"Uh, just a- nothing really," Harry stammered, looking at the girl with the dirty blonde hair as she crawled into his uncle's yard and knelt beside him. "You know you're probably not supposed to be here? Who are you exactly?"

"I live back there," the girl pointed over her shoulder at the house behind Harry's. "I was exploring the edges of the fence and found my way here. My family is moving to Ottery St. Catchpole soon and I want a last look around. So what's your name?"

"Harry," the boy answered. "Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."

The girl looked up at him, staring at his eyes and then focusing on the scar that twisted across one side of Harry's forehead before she reached out and patted his head. "Very nice to meet you too," she said. "Want to hear a secret?" the girl raised her eyebrows and leaned in a little closer.

"What?" Harry asked.

The blonde girl cleared her throat and put her hand and her lips up to Harry's ear to whisper to him. "My mom is going to try turning sugar into gold tonight," she said quietly. "And my dad thinks it might work if the goblins don't sabotage it."

Harry paused, his nine-year-old mind mulling over the idea of turning sugar into gold. "How will she do that?" asked the boy. The intriguing idea stuck in Harry's mind. The Dursleys did, after all, keep a cupboard stuffed to the brim with all manner of sugary substances.

The girl shrugged and puffed up her cheeks. "I don't know," she said. "But magic can do funny things like that."

Harry shifted the necklace in his hands a little farther away from the strange visitor. "I don't believe in magic," he said. "There's no such thing."

The girl blinked at him. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"Why wouldn't I?" asked Harry, defensive now.

"Oh, I don't know," said the girl, her face falling a little as she continued to stare at him, studying him, Harry thought. "I just thought you might since you look like that sort of person."

Harry went silent and tried to think of something to say. "What makes you say that?"

"I don't know that either," she responded in a sigh. "But you wouldn't lie about it if you did have magic, would you?" she stared at him, growing very stern for a minute.

Harry grinned a little and shook his head. "Promise not to tell?"

The blonde girl's demeanor lightened and she quickly nodded up and down. "Promise," she said.

Harry reached around and opened up his hands, revealing the charm which seemed to catch what little sunlight broke through the clouds at uneven intervals and flicker a bright silver. Harry smiled with approval when his visitor cooed at the sight of the necklace. "And watch this," he added, reaching for the magic in his chest. With a hint of effort manifesting on his face, Harry drew his hands away from the charm, allowing it to hang in midair as if caught by some invisible net.

"Pretty," said the girl, reaching out and tapping the silver eagle with her finger.

Harry winced, concentrating to maintain the token wisp of magic allowing the necklace to float. He focused harder and the necklace floated a little higher in the air, hovering just in front of the blonde girl's face before circling once around her head.

"That's wonderful," the girl laughed. "It's magic." She held out her hands and the charm dropped into her open palms.

Harry grinned, his head pulsing from the effort of molding the magic with his will alone. "It's magic," he echoed as the girl held up the charm and looked at it.

"I can't believe you can already do magic," said the girl, looking up at Harry. "My parents say I can't have a wand or a spellbook until I'm older."

"A what and a what?" asked Harry.

"A wand and a spellbook," the girl repeated quizzically. "To use magic, my parents have to spend a long time reading a big book and practicing with a wand to get the spell just right. Don't you?"

Harry shook his head. "No," he said.

"Then how do you do magic?" asked the girl, still hanging onto Harry's charm.

"I just do," Harry answered. "I just sorta make things happen. I thought that was how magic worked."

"I don't think so," said the girl. "My dad says it takes a long time and a lot of practice. You have to go to school for years and practice and study for hours if you want to be any good."

"Not me," said Harry, reaching out and picking a thorn from one of the brittle branches of the bush. He focused on the tiny spike, releasing a little bit of magic and lifting it into the air. "This is all I have to do," he lifted the thorn over their heads and it began to glow like a torch.

The girl smiled and watched as the thorn, now a little ball of glowing energy lifted higher and turned colors from white to green. "Higher!" she laughed. "Make it purple!"

Concentrating against the heat in his head, the same heat that seemed to come whenever he used too much magic or maintained it for too long, Harry made the light shoot up into the air and flash from green to purple. When his friend laughed in delight, Harry decided to have a little more fun and focused on shapes and patterns in his mind. The light traced out the patterns perfectly, shining and sparking like a silent firework as it drew letters and animals in the air next to the house.

Harry grinned, despite the fever burning in his head and chest, and went for one last finale, knowing the discomfort would fade as soon as he stopped. He tried to think of the eagle charm and focus on the outline of the pendant. The ball of light started to go through the motions, but stopped short when Harry yelped in surprise. As the girl turned to look at him, Harry reached up and pressed his hands over his eyes as the headache and fever suddenly intensified and stabbed at him.

"Harry?" the girl asked, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. "What's the matter?"

Harry turned and looked at the ball of silently pulsating light, which had fallen to sit directly level with the dining room's big portrait window. "Oh no," he muttered, feeling the magic slip loose of his control.

Silently expanding to the size of a small car, the light flashed brilliantly and then collapsed in on itself. An instant later it exploded like a mortar shell, shattering the dining room window and cracking the wooden trim around the pane. Harry and the girl were knocked to the ground by the shock wave and the girl screamed in fear as glowing flecks of shrapnel shot out like stinging hornets from the explosion. Reaching to pull her away from the blast and put himself between the blonde girl and the flying debris, Harry whimpered as the boom gradually faded into an intense ringing in his ears.

Both children turned to and looked towards the site of the smokeless explosion. The window was gone and the dining room, before set with the Dursley's finest china for a nice dinner, lay in absolute ruin. Petunia's shrieking and Dudley's crying echoed out of the living room as did Vernon's vehement curses.

"Wow," whispered the girl. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Harry shook his head. "I have no idea," he answered, laying on the ground next to his prone guest. His head hurt.

"Harry Potter!" Vernon screamed from the living room, following up with unintelligible shouting and yelling as he stomped through the house towards the dining room.

Harry's eyes went wide and he immediately turned to the blonde girl. "He's going to kill me," Harry stated matter-of-factly. He cast around and quickly located the eagle charm. Picking it up and putting it in the girls' hand he closed her fingers around it with his. "Hang onto this for me," said Harry. "Okay?"

The girl nodded. "But-"

"Go now," said Harry, getting to his feet and helping pull the blonde to her knees. "Just go."

Crawling towards the hole in the fence, the sound of a car alarm going off in the distance, she turned and looked at Harry. "I had fun until you blew up the house," she said. "Can I come back tomorrow?"

Harry nodded. "Sure, sure, just go." He turned around to face the house as Vernon, his normally meticulously combed hair completely out of sorts, stormed into the disaster area of a dining room. The boy didn't turn to look and make sure his friend had escaped the yard, instead focusing all his attention on his uncle.

"You little witch-child," growled the fat man, stalking towards Harry like a bear. "I know you did this. I know you did this!" he shouted.

SC

Fortunately Vernon and Petunia had decided not to murder Harry, despite Dudley's insistence. Their decision likely had something to do with the prompt arrival of the police on the scene and the desire of those police officers to question everyone in the house, including Harry. Thus, after several hours of sitting around waiting to be questioned, followed by half an hour of meticulous inquiries and desperately hoping that no one blamed it on him, Harry retreated to his room under the stairs.

While the door could not be locked from the inside, no sooner had Harry shut it behind him than did he hear the loud clicking of the locks on the outside being securely fastened. The young boy, fighting back tears and breathing in short hiccups, flopped down on his bed and buried his face in the pillow. He hated magic, he told himself, hated it as much as he hated having to live with the Dursleys. Why, he wondered, did magic have to be a part of him? Why couldn't he be normal like everyone else? If he had been born normal, at least, maybe his aunt, uncle, and cousin wouldn't hate him. Maybe he'd be able to be friends with Dudley or even be in his cousin's gang. At least then he'd be popular.

Harry lay on the bed, listening to the noises in the house and trying not to listen to Vernon and Petunia argue over whether they should go to a hotel or simply board up the window and stay in their home. When he heard someone storm out of the house and start the car, Harry at first assumed that they were going to leave him here and go to a hotel for the night. Harry wasn't concerned about that. The locks on his door could do nothing to contain him if he really wanted out, but an hour later he heard the car return. The sound of an electric drill and banging hammers filled the house as Vernon fixed a board over the window and walked up to his bedroom. When the house went silent, Harry rolled over and looked at the cheap clock on his nightstand. The numbers told him it was just now nine.

The hunger that accompanies a night without dinner gnawed at Harry's belly and the boy sat up in bed. Despite the pain in his stomach, he had no real desire to eat. Magic, he thought, had proven to him to be nothing but a curse.

"Only because I can't control it," Harry thought, trying very hard not to feel miserable. After all, this was not the first time he had lost control of his innate magical abilities. On Harry's eighth birthday, a particularly hot summer day, the boy had accidentally created a blast of cold that inflicted frostbite upon his cousin. Not a month later, Harry had been experimenting with warming up cold food and unintentionally ignited a loaf of bread. Examples abounded of times when Harry had set things on fire, or created flashes of light that frightened his family to no end, all very much by accident.

The boy got out of bed and pressed his ear to the door of his tiny cell. Hearing nothing he assumed that the Dursleys had gone to bed early tonight. "Well," he said as he pressed his palms to the door and drew on the warm energy. "I'll just have to get better," muttered the boy. The latches holding the wooden door closed clicked open and Harry cracked the portal only enough to peer into the dark hall beyond. "I'm going to become the best..." he couldn't think of a word to describe someone who used magic, "magic... user... magic-wielder," he exclaimed, immediately slapping his hand over his mouth and listening. He heard no one move upstairs or from anywhere else in the beleaguered house and breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm going to become the best magic-wielder no matter what," he whispered, tiptoeing into the lambasted dining room and opening the door to the back yard. Making a point to step over or around broken china and fragments of debris, he closed the door behind himself and laughed a little to think of how perturbed Petunia must have been at the thought of her china being reduced to dust.

Pausing to glance around the tiny yard, Harry spotted the hole in the fence by the rosebush, and looked over the barrier to the house on the other side. All in all the structure looked remarkably unassuming as he crawled beneath the fence and tried to think of how best to get the attention of the girl from earlier without rousing the suspicion of anyone else. He decided that getting his pendant back would most easily be accomplished by locating the girl's room, knocking on her window, and simply asking to have the necklace back, he began searching. He could levitate himself if need be, Harry thought.

A twitch of white light from the window on the second floor caught Harry's attention and he glanced up. Through the pane of glass Harry could see flickering blue, silver, and reddish lights that seemed to fade as they took the shapes of spectral animals and people. Suddenly bubbling with energy, feeling a kind of electricity in the air, Harry crept to the wall beneath the window, and concentrated on his hands for a moment. As the magic pulsed through his fingers, the digits twitched and burned as Harry's fingerprints grew out of his skin like the pads on a gecko's feet. Pressing his fingers to the wall, Harry carefully pulled himself up to the wall to peek in through the window.

Nose poking up over the bottom of the glass pane, his eyes immediately locked on the glowing blue circle drawn in the floor. Wispy lines of prismatic light traced their way around the circle like long millipedes, drawing out sigils and runes of mind boggling complexity. On the side of the circle opposite the window, standing behind a pedestal, a woman in blue robes that ran to the floor held her hands out at her sides. As the wind confined within the room tossed her hair about and the light from the circle made her smile flicker a multitude of colors, her hands traced through the air in patterns identical to those the glowing lines drew on the floor. Harry turned and saw the girl from before, dressed in a robe identical to the older woman's, standing in the corner of the room and watching the woman intently.

"They're identical," Harry whispered from outside, noticing the striking resemblance between the two participants in the ritual, even as his gaze shifted back to the marvelous display of color in the center of the otherwise empty room.

"Alright," said the woman behind the podium, not removing her gaze from the circle or stopping the motions of her hands. "Take the powder and do just like mommy told you." She looked down at the massive book resting on the podium as the pages also began to glow. "Daddy is going to be so proud of us when he gets home tomorrow," said the woman with a delighted smile, stopping and beginning to chant words Harry didn't understand.

Transfixed by the ritual, hearing the words tingle in his ears like crackling embers, Harry watched as the little blonde girl stepped forward and drew a small flask from her robes. Pulling the cork she leaned over the circle and poured a fine grey, or perhaps it was purple or red but Harry couldn't quite tell over the rapidly oscillating colors, powder into a pile in the center of the circle.

"Good, honey," said the woman. "Now step back and don't worry."

The girl did just that and retreated back to the corner of the room, looking intently at the glowing circle as the light began to get brighter. The woman's chanting rose in volume and her hands waved through the air, one holding a thin wooden wand, the other contorted in an odd sign, while her eyes rose skyward.

A second later, Harry froze as a roiling mixture of excitement and nausea shot through his chest and stomach. He concentrated to keep the magic in his hands from fading and detaching him from the wall, while simultaneously fighting the urge to vomit down the side of the house. Inside he caught the change in atmosphere as the little girl dropped to her hands and knees. A column of prismatic light bolted through her back, coming out her stomach and making the girl threw up on the floor between her hands. The woman in the blue robe's smile had disappeared. Taking its place, a ghastly expression of shock and terror smeared across her face.

"It's alright honey," shouted the woman, her hands flying through a frenzied series of motions as wisps and trails of smoky light emanated from the glowing circle and rioted around the room like ghouls. "It's perfectly safe," she said, even as her daughter wretched and threw up again. The mother gritted her teeth and began chanting over what sounded like a thunderstorm in the house, yelling in the strange language while Harry hung, transfixed and helpless to do anything but watch as the ghostly lights took on identities of their own, morphing into spectral terrors that tore about the room.

"Mother!" the little girl screamed as the woman's hands shot out to her sides and froze.

The woman grunted in pain as the wispy hands escaping the circle crucified her in midair. Her head craned toward her daughter and her expression melted to one of both terror and sorrow as her wand dropped to the floor. "Luna it's going to be OK," she cried, tears dripping down her cheeks. She stopped and screamed as her arms jerked with a snap, pulling themselves too far free of the woman to be in their sockets. "Baby I love you very-"

She exploded. Harry clung to the wall, stunned and staring blankly at the pulpy crimson juice which completely covered the inside of the window. His mind refused to work as the magic holding him to the second story wall faded into nothing. Even as he fell towards the bushes below, Harry's expression remained a mask of shock.

An hour later the boy's body crawled out from the bushes beneath the window and walked back to the hole in the fence. Oblivious to the world around him and shuffling like an animated corpse, Harry returned to the Dursley's ruined dining room, stepping on crunching porcelain and snapping glass as he walked back to his room beneath the stairs. Shutting the door behind him, Harry crawled beneath his covers, mouth still hanging dumbly open, and stared at the wall opposite his bed.

The whole next day he didn't get up from his bed and the Dursleys didn't bother him. The next day passed and Harry remained motionless in bed until well after three in the afternoon when his door clicked open and Petunia set for him a bowl of gruel on the floor without saying a word. The rest of the day passed and the gruel remained untouched until after eight when the door opened and Dudley's foot splashed into the cold meal.

"What the hell is this?" sneered Harry's cousin, looking down and crinkling his nose. "Why aren't you eating?" he looked up at Harry, who remained motionless in the bed. "Hey, hey," said Dudley, stomping in front of Harry. "I'm talking to you," he jabbed his finger into Harry's shoulder. "I said why ain't you eating?" Dudley waited for a moment for Harry to answer, but the boy on the bed only rolled over and wrapped his arms around himself.

Dudley's face contorted as though he were trying to work a math problem, and he shrugged. "Fine, starve, see if any of us care," he said, walking back to the door but stopping when Harry didn't respond. Dudley bit his lip and walked from the cell without closing the door. A moment later he returned with a small bowl of steaming soup. "Eat damn you, eat," said the pudgy child, setting the bowl on the nightstand and jabbing Harry with his finger again. "You're going to starve if you don't eat!"

The smell of the food finally overwhelmed Harry's remaining shock and the boy slowly sat up in the bed. Without looking at his cousin, Harry reached out and picked up the bowl, ignoring the heat which stung his hand and mouth as he spooned the soup between his lips. Eyes glassy, he went at the soup for a moment as Dudley watched, before the fat child turned and kicked the bowl of spilled gruel from the room and into the hall. As the door shut, Harry heard Dudley shout for Petunia.

"Mom!" yelled the fat child. "Harry threw the food you gave him into the hall again!"

Chapter One – Of Snakes And Of Sorcery

"So where are you from?" Harry whispered, resting his chin on the pole meant to keep children from getting too close to the zoo's display. Staring intently through the glass at the quasi-jungle beyond, Harry sighed and watched as the large boa watched him back and flicked its tongue through the air.

"Burma," the snake hissed. Or, at least it seemed to hiss the word. Even after weeks of pleasant chats with the many garden snakes and king snakes that had come to occupy the Dursley's back yard, Harry couldn't tell if the conversations were audible or if he and the snakes somehow communicated without actually speaking. "And I'd very much like to go back," said the oily voice. "Sadly, I don't see that happening since I came here on a boat..."

Harry always heard the words of a serpent as clearly as those spoken by any human, but no one else seemed to notice, even when he spoke back. To the young Potter it was a fascinating puzzle as the snakes didn't know the answer either. They were always surprised to be speaking to a human at all, much less one who could speak to them too. Nevertheless, that did not prevent Harry from quickly building up friendships with the snakes that passed through his yard.

"I'm sorry," said Harry. "If I ever hear of any ships headed for East Asia I'll be sure to come back and let you know. In the meantime though, life in a zoo can't be too bad, can it?"

The boa uncoiled just a little, as if to shrug the shoulders it didn't have. "It's not torture. They give me a sunlamp to warm myself under and plenty of water to soak in, just like back in the jungle. Oh, and the mice here make a delightful little crunching noise and a squeak just before they go 'squish'."

Harry caught the little flick of the head that seemed to serve as a universal laugh among snakes. That was really the only thing about his ophidian friends that bothered Harry, thought the boy as he faked a grin. Most of them always took such delight in slowly killing things. "Well that's... nice."

"Isn't it though," answered the snake, turning its head as another human walked in front of its cage.

"Move it," bellowed Dudley, barreling up to Harry and shoving his cousin out of the way. "You've been watching that snake all day. Let me take a turn," said the fat boy as he shoved Harry away.

Harry stumbled but managed to land on his palms without hurting himself. He glared up at his pudgy cousin and glanced over at the snake behind the glass as Dudley reached out to pound the glass with the back of his hand. Dudley began barking at the snake to do something funny or to stand on its tail, prompting Harry to shake his head. The boa turned towards Harry.

"Could you do something about this?" asked the snake, as calmly as ever.

Harry thought for a moment and focused on the glass. A pang of effort twinged in his chest as he willed the glass out of existence. Dudley's hand, already mostly through the motion of slapping the pane, met only empty air and no resistance as the glass simply winked out of the universe. Still looking at Harry, the snake flicked its tongue as Dudley's eyes went wide.

"Thanks," hissed the animal. The snake then whipped its head around, quick as a thought, opened its jaws and latched onto Dudley's hand. As the fat boy screamed and Harry leaped to his feet in surprise, the boa twisted its elongated body and curled around around Dudley's arm like a bullwhip. As the scream echoed through the dim hall of the humid reptile-house, Petunia Dursley and the rest of the children attending Dudley's birthday party turned around and spotted the commotion. Petunia put her hands up to her face and screamed that the snake was eating her little boy.

"No, no, stop it!" Harry shouted, reaching out as his cousin toppled to the ground. "What are you doing? Let go of him!"

The snake released its bite on the fat child as panic broke out in the reptile house, though it retained its crushing grip on the boy's arm, and shifted to look at Harry. "Why?" asked the creature, flicking its tongue. "He tastes of pork and salt. Delicious."

"Just let go and get out of here!" Harry barked at the snake, directing his will at the serpent and forcing its muscles to relax their grip on Dudley.

The snake shivered as Harry's magic overrode its motor control and then relaxed on its own as Petunia rushed over. The fat woman stopped short of Harry and her son, screaming incoherently at the snake. The serpent flicked its tongue and slithered off Dudley. "Thanks anyway," it hissed as it left the reptile house.

Petunia dropped to cradle Dudley as the boy grabbed at his hand, trying to cover up the puncture wounds with his good hand. The fat woman turned and glared at Harry as the boy stood up. Silence filled the reptile house as Dudley's crying faded. Harry's own heartbeat seemed to be the only sound in the room while all the other children watched in some combination of fear and amazement.

"Just wait," Petunia whispered, a false smile glued to her lips, "until we get to the house. I'm simply positive your good uncle will have words for you about sicking a snake on our little boy with your witchcraft."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat.

Seeming to last an eternity, the drive home reminded Harry of the punishments he had begun to endure more and more often when the Dursley's would lock him in his room for his perceived wrongs. While agitating, Harry thought, the 'punishment' proved convenient if nothing else. While he waited in his solitary confinement, he could practice his magic in relative peace, the silent magic at least. To the boy it seemed that each passing day brought with it more understanding of how to manipulate the world around him using only his will. Already, he reflected, he could almost effortlessly levitate a cup or other small object, and have it float about the room as though on a string. And as his day at the zoo had demonstrated, making objects disappear proved a relatively easy task, though where they went remained a mystery until he willed them back.

When Harry got home he was forced to tune out his uncle's ravings for the better part of an hour before being thrown in his cell without dinner to think about what he'd done. The boy wasted no time in taking his blanket and cramming it up to the crack between the floor and the door to ensure that he could practice his more visually impressive talents with impunity. Reaching into the reservoir of energy that seemed to grow deeper by the day, Harry began his personalized exercises and spent the rest of the day practicing magic by himself.

That night, after the Dursley's had gone to bed, Harry unlocked the door with a thought he'd long ago mastered, and snuck out to the kitchen to scrounge for leftovers. He settled on finishing off a half-eaten turkey sandwich in the refrigerator, quickly destroyed the evidence of his mission, and went back to his room. Upon refastening the locks, using a thought he'd only more recently mastered, Harry went back to his practice.

The days passed and Harry stopped counting how many went by, though he did note that this was the longest the Dursley's had kept him in his room. They wouldn't even let him out to eat, instead slipping him his meals through a crack in the door. When he went to the bathroom, once a day, was the only time Harry went out while his jailers were awake. At night however, Harry had come to own the house. Over the course of the first week, the boy had come up with a bit of magic he could use to muffle his footsteps, freeing him from having to concentrate on sneaking. Requiring much more effort, but providing much more fun, Harry had also learned to make himself levitate a few centimeters off the ground as he walked.

After what must have been at least two months had passed, Harry began to wonder if the Dursleys had forgotten about him altogether, simply slipping the food into his room once a day and leaving the door unlocked for a few minutes every afternoon out of habit. Whenever he listened to their conversations from the bottom of the stairs they were never talking about him, always something completely mundane and boring. Thusly, it came as a great surprise to everyone except the young Potter, when Harry decided to reappear at the table for breakfast one morning towards the waning end of the summer.

When Vernon walked into the kitchen that morning in late July and found Harry sitting at the table, the fat man jumped in surprise and clutched at his chest.

"What are you doing here?" Harry's uncle demanded when his pulse settled back to a reasonable level. "How did you get out?"

"Someone left my door unlocked this morning," said Harry, not completely fabricating the story as Harry had indeed left his own door unlocked. "So I assumed my punishment was over. I just wanted to make sure before I went and did anything foolish." The boy added with an innocent smile so convincing that his uncle could only grunt in acknowledgment.

Vernon turned and looked at the calendar. "Sure," he huffed. "I guess it can be over. Now get your breakfast and get back to your room."

"Thank you uncle," said Harry, hopping down from the chair and picking up a bowl of cereal he had already prepared. By way of little more than a passing glance, Harry happened to look down at the table where Vernon had set the morning post and saw that on the top of the pile sat an envelope with his name on it. "What's this?" he reached out with his free hand and picked up the envelope. It felt thick.

Quicker than a man of his size seemed capable of moving, Vernon snatched the letter from Harry's hand with a definitive 'snap.' "Nothing for you," said Harry's uncle. "Don't give it a second thought."

Harry looked up at the fat man, not missing the implied _or else_. He nodded, resisting the urge to tear the letter from his uncle's grip with magic, and slunk off to his room beneath the stairs. Sitting on the edge of the bed he set the bowl on his nightstand and studied the colorful shapes floating in the milk. Trying to think of how to get that letter consumed his every faculty for some time as he stared down into the bowl. As the buoyant bits of spun sugar and corn interconnected in just the right shape, Harry's mind snapped back to that night several weeks ago.

Trying desperately not to think about the blonde woman and how she met her grisly end, Harry put his hand over his eyes and turned away from the bowl of cereal. He shivered and was suddenly very glad he'd not yet eaten. It had taken him days to build up the courage to simply look at the house after the event, and when he did gather the strength to investigate further, he uncovered nothing. When he looked through the windows one night, all he'd seen was an empty house. It was as if no trace of the woman or the strange girl who crawled through Harry's fence one day had ever existed. The police had never, to the best of Harry's knowledge, questioned anyone in his home about the disappearance of the woman or the fate of the girl.

Looking about his little cell and refocusing on regaining the letter, Harry pushed the thought of the little blonde girl from his mind. He'd probably never see her again, he decided, and that was a pity. He'd decided that he very much enjoyed her company... and she had his pendant.

Sitting and thinking for a long time, until after the clock in the living room chimed that it was noon, Harry eventually decided that the best way to retrieve the letter would be to wait until nightfall, sneak out, and search the house. He could read it quickly and return it before... The idea froze in Harry's mind at the same instant that the scent of smoke touched his nostrils. He opened the door and poked his head out into the hall, looking towards the kitchen. Upon seeing his uncle Vernon, holding a flaming envelope over a waste basket, Harry grimaced and pulled the door shut after returning to his room.

_So much for that idea,_ he thought grimly, turning and retrieving a little wooden ball from beneath his bed. Holding the ball a few inches above his open palm with magic, Harry used his free hand to guide a series of luminescent green eddies of energy over the surface of the ball, stripping away even the minutest of imperfections and leaving in their wake perfectly smooth wood. Working the surface of the sphere multiple times, Harry gradually refined the ball over and over again as his mind grew distant and turned. _I wonder if there's a way to bring paper back from ashes,_ he mused.

The next morning, on what would be a warm and bright Tuesday if the weather channel was to be believed, Harry sat at the table in the kitchen, opposite a sullen Dudley as the two ate breakfast. Petunia sat between them, sipping a cup of tea. When Vernon got up from his paper to check for the post, he returned with a handful of envelopes of various shapes and sizes, junk mostly, though Harry's eyes lit up when he saw not one, but two envelopes addressed to him.

"Are those for me?" asked Harry, nodding to the letters.

Immediately after he saw them, Vernon set the envelopes aside, sporting a confused and almost worried look as he assured his nephew that there must be some mistake. Harry made a point not to grimace, but instead finished his breakfast and retreated back to his room. Again the smell of smoke wafted under his door, and Harry contemplated how he might return ash to its paper form as he polished the wooden ball brighter and brighter, gradually shaving off one millimeter after another from its diameter with the tiny green wisps of magic.

The next day, Wednesday, breakfast stopped on a dime when Vernon arrived at the table, carrying not two, but three letters addressed to Harry. The fat man immediately ordered Harry to his room and labeled the envelopes "Return To Sender."

On Thursday, five identical letters arrived for Harry, prompting Vernon to put them through the shredder and burn the remains.

Friday brought with it a pile of eight identical letters for Harry. The day also saw Vernon drive to the post office in a rage and return home just as flustered.

On Saturday the Dursley's mailbox had been stuffed, before the postman arrived, with thirteen letters for Harry. Vernon proceeded to promptly tear them up in the front yard and earn a collection of wary glances from his neighbors in the process.

While the post never came on Sundays, Vernon woke to the shock of twenty-one letters for Harry in his mailbox. The fat man, growing ever more agitated, resorted to taking down his mailbox and setting the metal receptacle like a trophy in the living room, quite confident no more would be coming tomorrow. Harry nearly laughed out loud at the old man's frustration when the family awoke the next morning to discover a new and bigger mailbox fastened to their house, stuffed with thirty-four envelopes. Harry never did find out what Vernon did with those and though he quickly grew accustomed to the idea that someone _really_ wanted him to get one of the letters, the boy couldn't help but forget to filch one in hopes that this might continue.

And continue it did. On Tuesday there were fifty-five envelopes. Wednesday brought eighty-nine. Thursday saw one hundred forty-four, and by the time Friday rolled around, Vernon nearly screamed when he walked into his living room and found that two hundred thirty-three envelopes had been shoved through the tiny slot in his front door, prompting the fat man to take a board and seal up the mail slot.

Not to be denied, Saturday brought a record three hundred seventy-seven envelopes crammed under the Dursley's front door. Each and every one bore a salutation to Harry Potter. By the end of the day, Vernon had stormed to Dudley's room, confiscated his son's BB gun and declared to Petunia that he'd perch atop the house all night like a sniper from the war if he had to.

"Next thing we know," Vernon told his wife, "well have birds delivering the bloody things!"

Harry Potter, standing an arm's length from Petunia, cleared his throat to grab his uncle's attention.

"What?" seethed the fat man.

Harry nodded his head towards the living room window, a large pane of glass overlooking Petunia's flower box and Privet Drive. Perched atop the flower box and staring mindlessly into the window, there sat a single fat pigeon, a creme colored envelope in it's beak. Vernon and Petunia watched in terror as another pigeon landed beside the first, this one also carrying an envelope. Then a third pigeon with a letter, and a forth and a fifth. A raven carrying a white envelope addressed to Harry Potter landed beside the pigeons less than a minute later, followed by a starling, a robin, and a swallow, all identically laden.

"But, but, but, but," Vernon stammered, staring at the birds which all looked at him while their heads twitched and shifted for different angles. "Where do they all come from?"

"Well," mumbled Harry, only just loud enough for Vernon to hear. "That the one there is a European Swallow so-"

"Will you shut up?" Vernon exclaimed. "I need to think." He ran a hand through his thinning grey hair, the cooing and cawing of the feathered visitors not aiding his concentration. "I said shut up!" Vernon grabbed the trophy mailbox from the coffee table and hurled it at the window. The glass shattered under the impact and the birds scattered in a flurry of flapping and squawking.

"Honey," Petunia whispered, reaching out almost sheepishly and touching her fuming husband's arm. "You're going to scare Dudley."

"Dudley's out with his friends!" shouted the fat man. He began tugging at his sweater with both hands and fidgeting from side to side. "Petunia, pack yours and Dudley's things," he said. "As soon as he gets home we're leaving."

SC

The following day saw Harry and the Dursleys on a road the young Potter didn't recognize. It wound north, then northwest, then doubled back down south to a small beach and a ferry. Paying the toll and driving the car aboard, Vernon quickly secured them passage on the vessel. "Now," said the fat man as he turned turned in his seat before anyone had even gotten out of the car. "We're all going to take a nice little boat ride to an island I know. While we're there, no one is going to say anything about birds, or letters, or the post at all. We're going to have a nice vacation."

Harry didn't fail to note the hint of mania in his uncle's words. The boy got out of the car with his aunt and cousin while Vernon waited behind for a minute, then walked behind Dudley to the railing lining the ferry as the horn sounded above them. With a jerk, the boat set off and began chugging into the distance. As Harry set his hands on the rail and looked over the side and down at the water, he felt a tug at his stomach, a sensation that, having never been on a boat before, he couldn't place. Something told him however that this would prove a miserable trip. The gathering storm clouds and fog did not disappoint him, shrouding the entire journey in a dreary haze.

When the ferry landed at an island an hour from the mainland, Vernon packed up his family and Harry, driving them all down a bumpy dirt road to what Harry could only describe as an ugly outcropping of rock, crowned by an even uglier excuse for a house. When they reached the shack, an uncharacteristically giddy Vernon unpacked all the bags himself and carried them into the tiny, one room building.

The interior of the structure looked like a log cabin gone horribly wrong. Its one room contained a wood stove in one corner, two sets of bunk beds in the other, and a table and chairs in between. Harry followed behind his aunt and cousin, stepping into the dim and dank little cabin, wondering as to its original purpose.

_It's going to be impossible to practice magic here,_ he thought, realizing a moment later that Vernon had possibly taken that into account when choosing their destination.

"Here we are," Vernon breathed a sigh or relief. "Far from anything or anyone that knows who we are or could deliver us some ghastly post."

Thunder boomed overhead, immediately followed by the sound of rain tinkling down on the old roof. A big drop of water splatted down on Harry's forehead and he took a step to the side. Looking up and counting no less than four locations in which the roof had already begun to leak, Harry wiped the water from his forehead. Stifling a sigh, he loosed a bit of magic to keep him warm and, spotting that his aunt and cousin had actually begun to shiver in the cool room, did the same for them.

"I'll get a fire going," said Harry's uncle, his tone a good deal merrier than the situation merited. He cast about the room before reaching up to comb his mustache with his fingers. "Unless we don't have any firewood."

This time Harry made less effort to contain a sigh of exasperation as he tried to calculate how long it might be until he could return home to his tiny cell. The boy smiled a little to himself, almost finding it funny that any circumstances could make him want to return to that house on Privet Drive. When he learned that he'd be sleeping on the top bunk, directly under one of the leaks in the roof, essentially to serve as a buffer for Dudley who slept below him however, Harry genuinely considered trying to teleport himself back to the house and ignore the consequences. Then again, he decided, that would be admitting the situation here had gotten the better of him... never mind that he had never actually managed to successfully teleport himself anywhere on purpose.

The next day passed on the miserable little outcropping of rick and Harry was just settling down for dinner, a bowl of potato soup, when he realized that today was the thirtieth of July, and tomorrow would be his eleventh birthday. He silently, and with no small measure of cynicism, wished himself a happy birthday as he finished the bowl of soup and set it in the sink by the stove. He turned in early, as did the Dursleys, but found it impossible to go to sleep. Even after the mattress had dried out from the first night's storm the lumpy thing proved too squishy in places and too hard in others to provide any semblance of a comfortable surface. Not wanting to use magic in front of the Dursleys, Harry instead decided to put up with it.

As the clock on the wall ticked away the minutes and hours, Harry glanced over at it occasionally, counting down the time until he turned eleven. At eleven fifty-nine and thirty seconds, Harry began counting backwards while staring at the face of the clock.

_3...2...1..._ he watched the last few seconds tick by and listened as the clock chimed midnight. _Happy Birthday to-_

Harry bolted up in bed, slapping his forehead against a beam in the ceiling as the room filled with a thunderous boom. He dropped back on the pillow, his skull ringing from the impact, and put his hand up to his brow. The warm heat alerted him to the cut the sharp edge of the beam had inflicted upon him. As another boom sounded at the door as someone were trying to smash it down, Harry drew on a bit of magic to try and close up the wound on his forehead.

Surprise overtook the stinging when Harry felt the magic drain out of him, but simply evaporate into nothing rather than relieve the pain in his head. He tried again and accomplished nothing. The magic seemed to refuse to mend the gash above his brow.

"What the hell is that!" Vernon shouted, rolling out of bed and getting to his feet as another tremendous knock sounded at the door. "Who's there?" he demanded. "We don't want any! Go away!"

The jam of the door snapped and splintered and the hinges creaked. Giving out with a final groan of complaint, the deadbolt tore loose from the jam and the door slowly swung inwards, lifting off its broken hinges. Watching in utter shock, Harry scooted back against the wall adjacent to his bed as an enormous figure, shaped like a man but far more menacing, bent low and stepped through the portal, carrying the heavy door by its knob as if it were no denser than styrofoam. Petunia screamed as the figure, its face obscured by a hood and a monstrously untamed beard, looked at the door in its hand and reached up to brush back its hood.

"Oh, well would you look a' that," said the giant, surprise evident in his voice as he looked at the door in his hand. The man, for indeed Harry could now see that the figure appeared to be an enormous human, set the door down and leaned it against the wall, removing his hand from the crushed knob and turning back to the occupants of the room. "Sorry about that," he said pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. "I didn't realize it was locked so I figured I'd just come on in." He cleared his throat and patted his hands down the front of his dark cloak to smooth out some of the wrinkles. "Rubeus Hagrid's my name and," he said, scanning the room and immediately spotting Harry, "ah, there's Harry Potter. At last."

Harry, despite sitting on his bed, sat only at eye level with the enormous man. He ignored the cowering Dursleys, pointed at himself, and said, "You're looking for me?"

The huge man nodded and Harry felt a lump form in his stomach. He genuinely hoped the fairy-tales he'd read in school, the ones about giants eating humans, weren't true. Even more than that, Harry hoped this Hagrid wasn't hungry.

"Well, here I am," said Harry.

The giant, in front of a stunned Dursley family, walked forward and sat down on the floor beside the dinner table. Still the visitor's elbows rested levelly on the platform as he motioned for Harry. "Well come down here and we can have a chat then," he said.

Harry swung one leg over the edge of the bed and climbed down to the floor, cautiously approaching the table and pulling up a chair. The giant reached inside his cloak, mumbling and pulled out a white envelope, reaching across the large table without extending his arm even half way and set the letter in front of Harry.

"This is for you," said Hagrid. "Congratulations, oh, and let me take care of that nasty lil' scrape there." He reached into his cloak and drew out, of all things, a small pink umbrella. Pointing it at Harry's forehead he swept the tip of the umbrella through a quick pattern, uttered a word Harry didn't understand, and set the device aside.

Harry felt a tingling across his brow and reached up. Finding that his cut had disappeared, he awkwardly thanked the giant and took the envelope. His uncle made a move to approach the table, but a steely glare from the giant locked the fat man in place before he could take a step. "Well go ahead then," said Hagrid, amicably. "Open it up," he motioned with his hands, ostensibly excited.

Harry tore away the top of the thick envelope and pulled out the card it contained. Flipping it open he read for a moment before looking up at the giant. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Harry read the title of the establishment. "What is that exactly?"

Hagrid laughed out loud, frightening everyone present, and slapped his knee. "What is that exactly," he repeated, setting his hand on the table with another hearty outburst. "You inherited your mum's sense of humor, you did." Hagrid went on to laugh another time, gradually growing quieter as the confused look on Harry's face registered. "Oh," he said. "Are you serious?" the giant exclaimed. "How could you not-" He turned on Vernon and Petunia.

"W-w-we never told him," Vernon stammered angrily.

"Never told him!" Hagrid burst. "Never told him that he'd been hand picked from birth to attend the most prestigious school of magic in the world? You never told him that the greatest wizard who ever lived personally chose him for the honor? Did you ever tell him anything? Did you ever even tell him his name or who his parents were or what they did or even what HE did? Did you tell him any of that?"

Vernon's glared at the giant and shook his head defiantly. "No, we did not," he said. "We are good, honest, normal people and we don't have any use for any of that witchcraft nonsense. We especially didn't want him to learn all that devilry about killing people and spinning curses and, and," the man's face contorted and he waved his hand for emphasis. "And he certainly didn't need to go off to that nut job of a headmaster when like as not he'd come back some kind of crazed monster!"

"Don't – you – ever," Hagrid got to his feet, his head nearly at the ceiling, "insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me. Now," he pointed a finger at the Dursleys, voice lowered but forceful as ever. "If Harry decides that he wants to go to Hogwarts then that will be the end of it, and you won't try to influence him one way or the other. You won't mention money or nothing like that since it won't be an issue. Clear?"

Vernon hesitated, but nodded and remained silent.

"Good," Hagrid said, turning back to Harry and growing amicable again. "Now Harry, what do you say? Would you like to attend Hogwarts in the fall and learn all there is to know about wizardry and magic?"

Harry froze. His mind snapped back to the night he lost his eagle pendant and he thought about how quickly the magic he'd seen and used then go wrong. He thought about all the times he'd accidentally unleashed a puff of magic that had dangerous consequences, and effects reaching farther than he'd intended. He thought about the desire he'd felt after each episode, the desire for more control over the magic he'd always known was, and would probably always be, a part of him.

"Sure," he said, his expression one of resolve. "Sure thing Hagrid. I'll go."

"Good, good, good," said the giant. "Well why don't we-" he paused and jumped as if something had surprised him. "I almost forgot," he said, reaching around and pulling a small brown box from his cloak. Setting it on the table and opening the top, Hargid turned it around towards Harry and pushed it across the table towards him. "I wasn't sure what flavor you liked so I went with something basic. But I baked it myself."

Leaning forward to look in the box, Harry peered down at the cake inside. The simple pastry, a vanilla cake with strawberry frosting, sat lopsided in the container as though it had been turned up on its edge for some time. 'Happy Birthday Harry' was written across the top in slightly smeared chocolate lettters. Harry turned back up to the giant, deciding not to point out that he was allergic to strawberries, and just smiled. "Thanks Hagrid," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: I'm not going to write dialogue for Hagrid as it appears in either the movies or the books. Doing so would be and affront to everything in which I believe. Also, I'd like to point out that I will not be using the canonical monetary system. I guess a setup based on units of seventeen and twenty-nine works for some people, but in my mind a metric system based on units of ten will work better.

Alright, thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it!

* * *

Chapter Two – The Grey Areas Of The World

"Well turn around," said Hagrid with good-natured impatience. "Let's see how it looks."

Holding his arms out at his sides to let the flowing sleeves of the robe hang down nearly to his hips, Harry spun around and turned back to the giant. "This is wonderful," he said, reaching down to tighten the thick leather belt around his waist, stopping to feel along the length of the band and run his fingers over the numerous little pouches and loops sewn into the leather.

"We'll take five in that size, and two in a size up," the giant said to the short, mousy woman waiting beside Harry with a number of other robes. He watched her bow a little and shuffle to the back of the shop before turning back to the boy. "It'd be best to have one for each of the school days and one or two that you can look forward to growing into."

Harry nodded, mentally noting that it made sense, especially since the flowing robes he would be wearing at school were so comfortable. He paused and looked out the window at the little section of London called Diagon Alley. Here, tucked away behind a magical wall that only moved for people who knew the Latin pass-phrase, there existed an entire community of witches and wizards who went about their less than mundane lives right under the noses of London's 'muggle' population.

The boy and the giant had already been here for the better part of the day, shopping for the essential school supplies Harry would need when it came time for him to leave for Hogwarts. Most of the necessities appeared innocent enough, as Harry understood the need for stationary, notebooks, and such, but some of the more exotic items on the list understandably struck Harry as odd. For one, he wondered, why in the world he need a box of quill pens, iron gall ink, quartz crystals, a sprig of holly, and a flask of powdered silver...

"Hagrid," said Harry. "What are all these little pockets along the belt for?"

"Ah, those are for spell components," said the giant. "Most tanneries will make their belts and pouches separate since its just simpler for them that way, but anyone offering higher quality merchandise will sell their belts and robes with built in pouches for components and straps for vials and potions."

Harry stuck his finger through one of the leather loops meant to hold a glass tube. "What exactly are spell components?" he asked.

Hagrid shifted on the bench, the wooden seat meant for someone a third his size groaning under the half-giant's weight. "You'll get a better explanation from someone like Dumbledore when you get to Hogwarts," said Hagrid, "but basically a spell component is something a wizard or a witch uses to power a spell, like a gem or some obscure plant."

"I don't think I understand," said Harry. "What do you mean by power a spell?"

"Well let me see if I can explain it a little better," said the giant, sighing and looking up at the ceiling. He thought for a moment while the owner of the shop rummaged around in the store room. "Think of it like this," Hagrid said, trying to recall what little time he himself had spent at Hogwarts as a student. "Every muggle learns early that the the whole world is made up of matter and... atoms and..." he swirled his hands in circles as he spoke, "material... stuff. Well underneath all that is what we wizards call the 'weave.' You'll learn this in your Fundamentals of Magic class, but the weave is a giant field of energy that basically holds the world and all of the atoms, together," Hargid interlocked his fingers to demonstrate. "Magic is the manipulation of the weave to manipulate the world around us. But everything takes energy you see, especially magic. Magic takes lots of energy which has to come from somewhere, right?"

Harry nodded. "So components, like holly and powdered silver, provide part of the energy needed to do magic," he said.

"Yes, there you go," said Hagrid excitedly. "Now you're getting it."

Going silent, Harry thought for a moment as the woman returned from the back of the shop with a tape measure get a few last minute details on the boy's dimensions. "But how do you get the energy out of the components? Wouldn't getting that energy out take energy?"

"As I understand it, yes," said the giant. "The material components provide all but a little bit of the energy needed to power a spell, and the wizard himself provides the rest. When I was in school, and mind you that this was a long time ago, wizards prepared spells by studying a formula from their spellbook and actually casting all but the final bit of the spell in their mind long before they actually planned on using the magic. Then, with the spell stored in your mind and ready to finish at a moment's notice, when you want to cast the spell all you have to do is take out the material component, trigger the spell you want to cast, and let the magic do the rest.

"See, each spell is a set formula so to speak. While you're preparing it from your spellbook, you're casting the spell in such a way that the magic will react to certain situations in certain ways, like using a little of the wizard's energy to consume a ruby and use the energy from the gem to power the rest of a spell whenever you flick your wand in a certain way and say a certain word at the same time."

Harry opened his mouth and tapped his foot. "Oh, that makes sense I suppose," he said, completely ignoring the fact that he himself had to do none of those things to work magic. "That's why wizards use wands and spellbooks."

"Right." Hagrid stood up and looked Harry over. "Trust me, it will make a lot more sense when one of your teachers explains it to you. I'm no scholar and magic is really a science so it will be clear when you can hear it in mathematical or clinical terms or something like that... which I promise you will."

"I'm not going to worry too much about it," sad Harry as the woman handed Hagrid the extra robes in exchange for a small collection of coins. The boy and the giant left the shop, Harry wearing the robes he'd purchased inside, and the pair stepped out into the small city within a city.

Hagrid stopped and cleared his throat, looking around the street to get his bearings as people passed them by. "Well I'd say we're just about done," he said. "How about we go for a drink, and then we can go to the bank and stop by Ollivander's to get you your wand?"

"Lead the way," said Harry, grinning like a fool with happiness born of feeling like he was right at home among all of the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley. As they walked though, and Hagrid went about explaining some of the history of the community to Harry, the boy slipped into a quiet contemplation. He had not once in his brief time with Hagrid heard the giant mention anything about wizards who could cast spells without wands or books or components, and all of the people Harry saw here in Diagon wore wands at their belts or tied to their sleeves. The vast majority carried packs shaped a great deal like large books, prompting the boy to guess that, for a wizard, carrying one's spellbook with them at all times had become a common practice. Furthermore, the way Hagrid had explained magic made it sound as though a wizard _couldn't _use magic without his book or wand. It all lead Harry to wonder if the magic he used was somehow different from the magic everyone else could employ.

Following beside the mountain of a man, Harry made his way to the Leaky Cauldron, ostensibly a small hole in the wall of a pub sandwiched between two larger shops. Even before stepping over the threshold, Harry could smell the sweet aromas of spiced ale, honey, and bread, and hear the sounds of music and dancing. Entering the building intensified all off the sensations twice over, and Harry had to stop and take it all in. The floor was scattered with more tables than he could count in all of the action of people cramming together at benches and on stools to drink, sing, and watch the dancers on the stage at the far end of the room. The sea of black cloaks contrasted sharply with the floor of highly polished golden wood, and the light streaming down from numerous chandeliers seemed to make everything from the flagons of ale to the smiles of the patrons sparkle.

Hagrid breathed a big sigh, sounding content. "C'mon Harry, let's find a spot."

Harry instinctively took hold of Hagrid's heavy sleeve as the two pushed their way through the jovial commotion of the pub and found an unoccupied table in a corner opposite the bar. In one of the four seats, the giant set the bags of school supplies thus far purchased and slung the robes over the back of the same chair. "Why don't you wait here and I'll go get something to eat," said the giant.

Sitting down, Harry nodded and pulled the chair of his things a little closer. He watched as Hagrid disappeared, quite a feat for a man so large, into the crowd. He waited quietly, folding his hands on the table and thinking. He wondered if all wizards could use magic the same way he himself did, simply by willing it to be so, but used wands and spell formulas as ways to ensure the magic didn't go wrong. That made sense until he remembered the night that the woman in the house behind him had died trying to cast a spell. She had been using a wand, and a spellbook, Harry remembered, and it had still slipped out of her control. Maybe magic by nature wasn't predictable, he thought.

Harry looked up as someone, a man dressed in mauve and red robes and wearing a purple turban, tore himself away from the crowd of people and jostled into the table. He spilled most of the drink he carried in a flagon, splashing the floor at his feet but managing to catch himself before he lost his balance entirely.

"Ah, heh-excuse me," said the man, stuttering. "Is this seat open?"

Harry nodded, not sure what to make of the new arrival and gestured for him to sit down. "Please," he added.

"Thank you," said the man, sitting opposite Harry and taking a sip from the large cup. He then set the flagon down and looked across the table at Harry. The man's eyes went wide for a second and he stammered, "Professor Quirrell, at your service," the words seeming to leave his mouth too quickly. He reached across the table to shake the boy's hand. "A real pleasure to meet you, Harry."

A pang of anxiety lancing into him, Harry hesitated but reached out and shook Quirrell's gloved hand. "Nice to meet you too, professor," he answered. "You know my name?" The instant his hand connected with Quirrell's, the anxiety gnawing at Harry's stomach leapt into his chest. He felt the sudden and nearly overwhelming urge to spring up and flee the room, even going so far as to shift his seat away and tense the muscles in his legs. Fighting the irrational desire however, Harry managed to contain his unease behind a false smile.

"I think everyone here knows your name, Harry Potter," said the man opposite him, releasing Harry's hand after a firm and drawn out shake. "Surely I can't be the first to express what an honor it is to meet you in person?"

Harry shook his head. "Yes sir," he said. "Actually I mean no sir," he corrected. "You're the first."

Quirrell stared across the table at the boy, the unreadable smile on his lips setting Harry even more on edge. "Hmm, must be the way you cover up your scar," said the man, noticing that Harry's hair had grown long enough to mask the jagged line twisting above the boy's brow. "I take it that your being here means you'll be attending Hogwarts in the fall?"

Harry nodded. "Yes sir," he answered.

"Well, I look forward to seeing you in my class then," Quirrell said, the stutter in his voice leveling out.

"What exactly will you be teaching?" asked Harry.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," the professor answered. "It's a subject I studied extensively during my time in Albania and elsewhere, and one I'm happy to teach to anyone coming to Hogwarts. I think you'll find it a most enlightening."

Again, a pang of anxiety made Harry shiver though he continued to hold back any evidence of his unease. "I look forward to it," he said.

Both Harry and Quirrell turned when Hagrid, the enormous man being impossible to overlook, stepped out of the crowd with two flagons in one hand, and a large tray stacked with food in the other. "Oh Harry, I see you've already managed to find one of your teachers," said the giant. He turned to Quirrell and sat down, placing the tray between himself and Harry. "If I'd known you'd be joining us I'd have gotten you something."

"It's perf-f-fectly fine," the man in the turban stuttered. The impediment, to Harry at least, seemed to have intensified since his last conversation and the professor got to his feet as he addressed Hagrid. "I've already had supper and I was just leaving."

"Well if you can't stay," said the giant. "I suppose I'll see you around the school then."

Quirrell shook his head quickly up and down and vanished into the whirlwind of activity in the bar. Hagrid turned to Harry and groaned before taking a massive bite of a turkey leg and washing it down with a mouthful of the spicy smelling concoction in the tankard. He looked at Harry and then shifted around to spot for Quirrell.

"Best be on the watch for that one," he said, only loud enough for the boy to hear, and almost too softly for the big room. "Something not quite right about him. Always stuttering and skulking about, never making much sense. If Dumbledore didn't trust him I'd have half a mind to try and get him out of Hogwarts myself." The giant cleared his throat.

"What makes you say all that?" asked Harry, picking a few rolls and a bit of sliced ham from the tray.

Hagrid grumbled to himself for a minute and finished off the turkey leg. "Don't concern yourself too much over it," said the giant. "Just a gut feeling is all."

Harry looked down at the table and then up at the giant. "Hagrid, can you answer a question for me?"

Hagrid, halfway through a mouthful of ale, set the tankard down and belched against his fist. "Sure thing. What's on your mind Harry?"

"You said back at the shack that you and my parents worked for this Dumbledore years ago... Did you know them? My parents I mean," asked the boy.

"Ay, that I did," said Hagrid with a big grin.

"All my aunt and uncle would ever tell me about them is that they died in a car accident and, well I never really believed that," Harry said. "Could you tell me a little about them?"

Hagrid's face relaxed and he bobbed in his chair a little. "I might be able to tell you a little something. First, you ought to know that your parents were absolutely crazy about you," he pointed at Harry. "I knew your mum when she and your dad knew you were coming, and neither one could wait to meet you. Course, that was during the height of the war with-" he paused and looked at Harry who stared intently up at him.

"Go on," said Harry. "Please go on."

"Well, you're old enough now," said Hagrid. "Don't go making a fuss, but some time back, there was a powerful dark sorcerer by the name of V- by the name of Vol-" he made an exasperated face. "A powerful dark sorcerer by any stretch who started causing lots of trouble for the wizarding world. Long story short, your parents teamed up with a bunch of other good wizards and they all gave him and his thugs a real fight for years. It's said that there were only two people in the world the Dark Lord feared... Albus Dumbledore, who you'll meet at Hogwarts, and your mum."

Harry's eyes widened a little. "What were they like? My mom and my dad?"

"Your dad had a great air about him," said Hagrid. "He was always something of a rogue but he was the lovable sort. And he was a powerful wizard. The man could spin evocations that would make the hair stand up on a griffon. Your mum on the other hand, she was always a bit more subtle, but just as fiery as your dad even though she never flaunted it. Dumbledore once told me that if anything should happen to him, he wanted Lily, that was her name Harry, to take over the fight against You Know Who. I didn't understand why when he told me, but I learned later."

"And..." Harry swallowed hard, already feeling he knew the ending to the story. "What really happened to them? I've always known it wasn't a car accident. That story just never sounded right."

Hagrid paused, mouth hanging open a little. "Well, um." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. "You Know Who got to them," he said. He looked around the room and then back at Harry. "I can't expect you to have noticed yet, but once you get to Hogwarts, you'll realize Harry that a lot of people know your name and want to make a celebrity out of you, and that goes back to the night your parents fought the Dark Lord by themselves...

"See, here's what happened if you want the little bit of the story I know," he waited for Harry to nod before he went on. "Right, I think you deserve to know. Just don't let anyone know that you know, but back before the Dark Lord fell, during the war, there was a prophesy from an oracle about how the Dark Lord would be destroyed. It involved a child and that child was you, Harry."

"Me?" asked the boy. "What did I have to do with anything?"

"Well your mum was pregnant with you when the prophesy came out you see, and most of the signs pointed to you so your parents went into hiding to keep you safe. Sadly, someone betrayed them and You Know Who came for them personally. Nobody knows exactly what happened, but the aftermath was clear enough... Lily and James, your parents, were both gone and the Dark Lord had been destroyed. Only you were left Harry, and Dumbledore says its because somehow the spell You Know Who had meant for you backfired and destroyed him. It's how you got that scar at least," he pointed to Harry's forehead. "And Dumbledore thinks your part isn't over yet."

Harry reached up and brushed the mark above his brow. "So that's it then? This Dark Lord killed them and then I destroyed him... somehow?"

Hagrid nodded. "Ay, that's the story anyhow." He took a deep breath and sighed. "Nobody quite understands, but the whole wizarding world owes you a great deal, Harry. But anyway, this isn't a time to be melancholy. You're on your way to Hogwarts and trust me, it'll be the experience of a lifetime."

_I don't doubt it,_ thought Harry.

Finishing dinner and discussing what Harry might expect once they reached the bank and Ollivander's, Harry and Hagrid left the Leaky Cauldron with full stomachs and spirits higher than when they'd first arrived. Making their way through Diagon Alley, navigating the seemingly random backstreets and hairpin turns that left Harry confused and looking all about to get his bearings, the pair broke through the rat's nest of twist and turns to an entire block devoted to one big building. Looking up to the domed roof and the spires which looked ready to puncture the ashen sky, Harry watched for a second as owls and ravens and all manner of birds came and went from the building.

"Welcome to Gringotts," said the giant as he lead Harry up the steps of the building towards a set of large double-doors.

"How in the world does all this stay a secret," Harry asked, stopping in front of the enormous Gothic edifice and drawing a curious glance from Hagrid. "I mean, I can understand Diagon Alley being a secret if it were just some little street, but this might as well be its own city." He turned around at the top of the steps which, being almost a story tall themselves, provided a stark view of the surrounding city blocks.

Hagrid grinned and pointed up at the sky. "What time is it?" he asked.

Harry glanced down at the watch on his wrist. "Just after four."

"Now Harry," Hagrid knelt down to come closer to eye level with the young Potter. "When we were on our way here from your uncle's it was a beautiful, sunny day in southern Britain. Haven't you noticed the weather now?"

Harry looked up towards the sky, noting the unbroken blanket of grey clouds that submerged the city in an almost surreal twilight. He also noticed, with a twitch of surprise, that he couldn't see any of the usual landmarks of the city of London. Looking towards the direction that should have been north, then looking east, he saw nothing that would betray Diagon Alley as being a part of London at all.

"Where are we exactly?" he asked.

Hagrid grinned and stood back up. "The world can be a funny place," he said. "It can twist and turn and take you somewhere you don't expect if you make even one step out of your day to day routine. Sometimes it will even double back on itself and create places within places that are already there. Welcome to the world of magic. Think about it for a while and tell me if you can understand," he turned and led the confused young boy into the bank.

Inside the air hung heavy, cold, and close. Harry cast about the enormous inner chamber, spotting out long lines of teller-windows along the walls, desks littering the center of the floorspace, and myriad halls and side passages jutting off this way and that into the unlit reaches of the establishment. The dull hum of lowered voices filled the chamber and floated up to the vaulted ceilings high overhead as a dozen or two of people, all wearing the uniform black cloaks of the alley, conducted their business. All about there wandered squat, hunched, humanoid characters that gave Harry pause and made him look to Hagrid for assurance.

The giant, catching the wary glance thrown his way, patted Harry on the shoulder. "Don't mind the goblins too much," he said. "Greedy and nasty they are, but they won't hurt you if you don't try to filch their purse." Motioning for Harry to follow, the giant walked through the big room and stopped in front of one of the clerk's windows, rapping on the counter to get the sleepy goblin's attention.

Fluttering awake, the little creature looked the patrons over and rubbed the sleep out of his narrow eyes. "Welcome," he said in a squeaky voice. "How may I help you today?" the words struck Harry as less than enthusiastic.

"Just need to make a few withdraws," Hagrid rumbled, removing a slip of paper from his robe, a bank slip already filled out in a script too fine to be the giant's and signed in a fluid cursive that Harry couldn't make out before the goblin picked up the form.

Looking over the slip, the goblin scratched the top of his head and hopped down from the stool on which he'd sat. Opening up a small door in the counter he waddled up to Hagrid and patted the giant on the leg to garner his full attention. "If you'd follow me, I'll show you the way down to the vaults."

"Thank you," said Hagrid, tapping Harry's shoulder and turning with the goblin.

Both Harry, and especially Hagrid, had to take truncated steps to avoid passing the goblin as the wrinkled creature lead them towards one of the many unlit halls built into the side of the main chamber. Stopping at the arched entrance to one of the passages, the goblin clapped his hands and sconch on the wall lit up. A glowing ball of green energy appeared at the end of a wooden torch and illuminated everything thirty or so feet ahead of the group as they set off down the hall.

"This place is enormous," Harry muttered, looking all around as the goblin led him and Hagrid down an open spiral stairway. If not for the railing that encircled the stair, which broke only at the numerous landings that punctuated the descent and allowed access to more walkways disappearing into the gloom, Harry might have worried about falling from the stone stairway and never reaching the ground. Muttering in a language Harry didn't understand, the goblin stopped at a landing and held the emerald torch up to the placard reading '600-900.'

"Almost there," the wrinkled goblin sputtered, stepping out onto the landing and walking down the narrow path, Hagrid and Harry in tow.

Glancing out over the edge of the railing, Harry looked down into the black that seemed do reach out forever on either side of the stone path beneath his feet. Quickly regretting the decision to look, Harry focused on following the goblin down the long walkway and not peering over the edge again. Stopping in front of a huge stone wall which, like the blackness of the cave, stretched out to the edges of the torchlight, the Goblin cleared his throat.

Muttering a word which carried with it a magic that made Harry's ears tingle, the illusion of the stone wall at the end of the path melted into a vault door nearly as tall as Hagrid. Inserting a key and turning it with a ponderous click, the goblin stepped back as the door groaned and rolled into a slot in the wall like a boulder. Extinguishing the torch with a puff of breath, as the passage ahead glowed dimly with a light emanating from little nodes of green energy on the ceiling, the goblin stepped through the door.

"Mind your head," he said to Hagrid. "These tunnels might have been carved to be impressive by Dwarven standards, but they might be too low for you."

Continuing to follow the goblin down a long tunnel of stone carved with perfectly smooth floors and walls polished to a flawlessness Harry had never seen before, Harry looked back at Hagrid. The giant made due by walking down the center of the room, where the arched ceiling allowed just enough space for his head. Passing by doors that looked to be cast of iron, Harry looked down the hall and saw that each of the evenly spaced doors had a number carved above it in the wall. The comparative clumsiness of the numberings compared to the perfection of the stonework in the hall lead Harry to think that the doors and their designations had been placed here long after whoever had carved the hall itself had gone.

"Really something, this Dwarven architecture," said Hagrid. "Looking at it you'd never think it was built before the human Egyptians built those giant pyramids. Too bad the new owners here lack the same skill. Got to hand it to them though. Before the goblins took over the banking system, the wizarding world's currency was a complete mess of complex rules and denominations worth one thing one day and something else the next."

"So how does it work now?" asked Harry.

"It's all based off the value of different metals," Hagrid explained. "Each and every coin in the wizarding world is cast from exactly one ounce of a different metal, with a copper Knut being the least valuable. Next up you have the silver Sickle which is worth ten Knuts and works as the standard trade unit of most of the common folk. The most valuable coin is the golden Galleon, which is worth ten Sickles or one hundred Knuts. The value of the coins might not perfectly reflect what the muggles say the metals are worth, but muggles are muggles after all. Simple as that. Some of the richer families and businesses use platinum coins called Peregrines, but most people will never see one of those since they're each worth one hundred Galleons."

"Here," the goblin stopped in front of a door, looking between the note and the Latin characters carved around the handle of the iron door. Pulling a key from his pocket and slipping into the notch in the bottom center of the door, the goblin heaved. Leaning all his weight into the key, the little iron rod slowly turned in his grasp and the hall filled with a heavy click and rattling of gears. "This would be the Potter Family Vault. I'll wait outside while you two go in, and then we can move on," puffed the goblin.

Hagrid acknowledged the goblin and pushed on the door. Swinging inward, the door glided on silent hinges. Harry felt a wind rush passed him and into the room as soon as the seal between the door and the wall broke, and his pulse rose with anticipation. When the door opened wide enough to allow them inside, Harry gasped. Piles of gold and silver coins sparkled in the greenish light glowing from the orb in the center of the ceiling. The room measured fifteen feet in every direction and stacks of coinage ate up all of the floorspace, minus a small pattern of walking space.

"This is your inheritance," said Hagrid, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I don't think your parents ever bothered to count it all up, since they both knew they'd never be able to spend it all. Safe to say it probably rivals the Malfoy fortune though."

"We must have the wrong address," Harry muttered, transfixed by the glittering coins. "This is... wow."

"I'd recommend you only take a little," Hagrid rumbled. "Carrying all this around would be a chore."

"How much do you think I'll need?" asked Harry. "I'm new to how much things here cost."

Hagrid looked at the ceiling as he thought. "Maybe five Galleons for a good wand at Ollivander's, ten if you want an excellent one. And from there it doesn't matter too much. Most of your books and supplies are paid for, and so are your meals."

"Can you put things in perspective for me?" asked the boy. "How much would I have to pay to repair my robe if I tear it, or for a new book if something should happen to it?"

"Most of what you'd be paying for wouldn't cost much more than a few Knuts or a Sickle at most. Once you get older and want to start working on expensive experiments like researching new spells or brewing complicated potions, then the materials will start to cost you more. Unlimited access to the library at Hogwarts for example would cost you ten Galleons a week, and the apothecary access fee is a Galleon a day, but you won't need to worry about that until you start independently researching your own projects and using up lots of magical supplies in the process. All of the resources you'll need to graduate will be free of charge."

Harry nodded, scanning the stacks of coins. "Good to know," he said, picking up two silver coins, both the same size but bearing different markings. One bore the motif of a diving falcon and one, quite uncreative thought the boy, a sickle. He held them up to Hagrid and asked if there was a difference between the two. The Giant laughed nervously for a second, and pointed out that the coin bearing the likeness of a sickle was indeed a Sickle, and the falcon represented a Peregrine.

"Thanks," muttered Harry, his head going light as he realized that the pile of coins just off to his right consisted of dozens, perhaps a hundred or more, of the Peregrines. Gathering up twenty Sickles and twenty Galleons, Harry divided the coins by their denomination and placed them in the larger pouches sewn into his belt, arranging them so they wouldn't jingle. Picking up five of the platinum Peregrines, Harry looked at the coins, and turned to look at Hagrid, who had busied himself with fiddling at the drawstrings on his cloak, and slipped the platinum coins into the pocket in his robe. Thinking for a moment he grabbed one more of the platinum coins and rolled it around in his hand.

"Uncle Vernon did always say that money makes the world go round," he whispered, walking to the giant. "Hagrid," said the boy.

"Oh," ready to go then?" asked the man, looking down at Harry.

"Not just yet," said the boy. "But I wanted to give you this," he held out the Peregrine.

Hagrid's eyes went a little wider, looking at the coin, but he quickly took a deep breath and put his hands in his pockets. "That's very kind of you Harry, but it really wouldn't be right. That's your money after all and I wouldn't want to take it from you."

"I want you to have it," said Harry, proffering the coin again. "From what you said this is valuable. Right?"

Hagrid nodded. "Ay, more than most people with decent jobs make in a year is there in your hand."

"Good," said Harry. "Well you've been kinder to me than anyone I've known in my entire life and this is for you." He stared intently at the big man.

Hagrid looked between Harry and the coin. "You don't have to buy my friendship," he said. "You're a good kid and I'll be happy to stay friends with you without the money."

"That's not it at all," Harry sighed. "I'm not trying to buy friendship, just show it. It's a gift."

Waiting for a minute as Harry continued to hold up the platinum coin, Hagrid took another deep breath and rubbed his fingers together before reaching out and taking the money. "Would you be too insulted if I exchanged this for some smaller ones and took care of some bills?" he asked.

"Not in the least," said Harry, "I'm giving it to you so you can do whatever you want with it."

"Well," Hagrid stumbled. "I'm not sure exactly what to say, except thank you."

"My pleasure," Harry grinned. He turned and gathered up a few more silver and gold coins, putting them away in his cloak as Hagrid watched, and turned back to the giant. "Now I'm ready to leave."

"You sure you need all that?" asked the giant. "That was five Galleons you just took."

Harry looked over his shoulder at the fortune in the vault, now positive that Hagrid hadn't seen all the money he'd taken earlier and guessing that he hadn't even begun to dent his family's fortune yet. "I think It'll be fine." Harry said. "You never know when you might need a little something extra."

"True enough," said the giant, stepping over the threshold and closing the big iron door once Harry was out. The locking mechanism clicked closed automatically and Hagrid turned to Harry and the goblin. "Next vault," he said.

The goblin nodded and waddled a little farther down the hall. Stopping in front of another door, identical to all the others, he repeated the process of unlocking the mechanism and filling the hall with a loud click. The sound of metal bars sliding on one another and steel cogs turning over rattled in Harry's ears as the goblin announced, "Vault 731."

Hagrid put his hand on Harry's shoulder and knelt down in front of him. "Wait here for just a minute," he said. "Hogwarts business and all."

Harry agreed and stepped back as Hagrid pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside the vault. The boy had just started to crane his neck to see inside the breech in the door, but a small, almost imperceptible puff of wind caught his attention as it fluttered the pocket of his cloak. Stopping in his tracks and pulling open his cloak, making sure the goblin was too focused on watching down the hall to notice, Harry reached inside the affected pocket and scowled when he found a plain white envelope tucked away in the confines of his robe. A small portion of his magical reserve left him immediately, like a tiny breath of air, and Harry filled his lungs reflexively as if to replace the spent energy.

"Not these things again," he thought, closing his cloak and deciding to leave the letter for later.

A moment went by and Hagrid stepped out of the vault carrying a small package, no larger than Harry's fist and wrapped in brown paper. The giant tucked the parcel away in his cloak and turned to Harry and the goblin. "Alright," he said, putting his fist to his mouth and clearing his throat. "Business concluded and all that. Ready to go?"

Harry nodded as the goblin turned to lead them down the hall. "Hagrid," he said to the giant. "What was that you took out of the vault?"

"Something for Dumbledore," said the giant. "I told him it weren't safe just sitting in a safety-" he cast a glance down at the boy. "Ah, never mind it. It's nothing too important."

Harry decided to let it go and focused on the path ahead of his feet as the goblin lead the boy and the giant out onto the narrow stone walkway. As the vault door closed behind them and faded back into the wall, Harry felt the inside pocket of his robe. The envelope was right where he'd left it and, for whatever reason, that calmed the boy down as he climbed the monumental stairwell. As he walked out into the comparatively bright light of Gringott's main chamber, Harry looked around again at all of the people in their dark robes and wondered if it was fashion or law that required the drab colors.

Hagrid thanked the goblin for his assistance as the wrinkled creature hopped back behind the counter and waved off the patrons. Harry couldn't help but wonder how the bank remained open if that one goblin's customer service was even remotely representative of the bank's as a whole. Pushing open the big double doors ahead of Hagrid and walking outside, Harry lurched backwards as he nearly ran into another boy.

"Watch where you're going!" barked the second child, a boy about Harry's height with platinum blonde hair and a complexion paler still. "Or I'll tear you a-"

"Calm yourself Draco," said a voice behind the blonde child.

Harry glanced over the two people in front of him, the boy and the man behind him, though it was the taller of the two who drew his full attention. Standing taller than anyone Harry had ever met, aside from Hagrid of course, the man's white hair and ghostly complexion perfectly matched that of the boy. The pair wore black robes embroidered with green and studded with little obsidian chips at the shoulders. Each also carried a wand hanging from an emerald cord at their hips.

"Be kind, son. We wouldn't want there to be any accidents or hard feelings," said the tall man, turning to face Hagrid as the giant stepped outside.

Draco smirked at Harry. "Of course, father," he said.

"Ah, Lucius and Draco Malfoy," said Hagrid, sizing up the two without being overtly impolite. "A pleasure as always."

"Likewise, Rubeus," Lucius said in a slow, somber tone. "And you must be Harry Potter," he turned to Harry, eyes the color of thin smoke piercing the boy to his core. "You'll forgive me but I've been quite looking forward to meeting you ever since I heard you'd be attending Hogwarts. It's an honor to finally make the acquaintance of the boy who lived. Allow me to wish you the blessings of the Malfoy House," he smiled calmly. "If you ever need anything of us, don't hesitate to ask. Draco," Lucius cocked his head towards his son, "I'm sure will make every effort to make you feel right at home."

"Of course, father." Draco said without looking away from Harry. "I'll make sure he knows exactly where to go."

"Thank you. I appreciate that," Harry answered, unsure of whether or not he should believe the smiles both father and son suddenly wore to be genuine.

"Perhaps you'll find yourself in the Slytherin, even. Wouldn't that be pleasant," said Lucius he reached out and shook Harry's hand. "But for now I'm afraid we have a great deal of other business to which we must attend. Farewell."

Harry and Hagrid stepped aside as Lucius lead Draco into the bank, neither speaking until the door had shut behind the pair. "Snakes," muttered Hagrid, turning to lead the boy down the steps.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Harry, keeping up.

"You shouldn't pay it too much mind," said Hagrid, "but those Malfoy's can be real trouble when they mean to be. Best to avoid them if you can since the only thing worse than being their enemy is being one's friend. Remember I told you that."

Harry made a mental note of the giant's advice as Hagrid lead him through the city's narrow streets. Stopping in front of a small shoppe on the western end of a small plaza, Hagrid turned to Harry and knelt down. "Here we are then. I just remembered something I've got to do, so you go on in and tell Ollivander that Hagrid and Dumbledore sent you. That should be all he needs to hear and I'll be back in half an hour."

Harry nodded as Hagrid stood up and tromped across the plaza, sticking out head and shoulders above any of the black cloaked figures walking around. The boy took a big breath and turned to look at the sign above the door. "Ollivander's Wands," he read. "Established... well that cant be right," he paused. "That was more than two thousand years ago." Harry shook his head and opened the door, filling the entryway with the sound of a dinging bell.

Standing on the bottom tier of the split-level interior, Harry looked around at the racks that lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Each was stacked with narrow boxes on top of yet more narrow boxes of all different colors. The stairs opposite the boy led up the second level where Harry saw still more racks of the cases. There must have been hundreds, it occurred to Harry.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome," said a voice as an old, well built man with wispy white hair emerged from the racks of boxes to Harry's left. "My name is Ollivander," said the man in the flowing grey robes, his sharply pale eyes locating Harry immediately, "and welcome to my symposium. What can I do for you today?"

"Harry Potter," Harry walked forward to greet the old man. "Dumbledore and Hagrid sent me."

His robes flaring out as he bowed slightly, Ollivander took a step closer and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "The famous Harry Potter. The honor is all mine," he said. "It's been a long time since I started wondering when The Boy Who Lived might walk through my door. You're here shopping for your first wand then, if Hagrid and Dumbledore sent you to me."

Harry nodded. "Yes sir," he said. "Though to be honest I don't know exactly what I'm looking for."

Ollivander smiled. "No one ever does when they're just getting started. Come on, I'll show you what we have and we can get you started." The man turned and held up one arm, gesturing for Harry to follow him. "Now, Harry, tell me what you know about wands."

"I've heard that they're part of how wizards do magic," answered the boy, walking behind Ollivander into the rows of boxes. "That's all really."

"A quick lesson then, for a very special student," said the old man, taking a turn that led the pair deeper into the store and passed more exotic cases. "Remember this on your first day and you might impress a teacher or two, but there are two different kinds of wands. The first, called an implement, is simply a tool used by a wizard to focus his will and perform the gestures needed to trigger a spell. Wizards use these wands as it's simpler and more reliable to swish a wand through the air than it is to hold your hand in a complex pose and try to trigger a spell that way. It takes a little longer to use a wand, of course, but the reliability more than makes up for it."

Harry took a mental note and scanned the racks Ollivander led him through. "And why is that?" he asked.

"Well to put it simply," said the craftsman. "You can key a spell to any trigger you'd like, but when it absolutely has to work exactly when you want it to, you need a trigger word and a somatic gesture, just to be safe. You can use your bare hand for the gesture, but suppose you hold your fingers just barely wrong... you might ruin the spell entirely and blow your self to bits, or charm someone you don't mean to. A wand used as an implement negates that risk since you can key the spell to trigger when you run the wand through a motion without worrying about it holding its non-existent fingers in the wrong pose. Here we are," he stopped in front of a shelf lined with boxes made of silver wood.

Harry thought for a moment as Ollivander looked through the cases and selected one from lower on the shelf. "So," Harry said. "Would that mean that a wizard could use any wand in place of a his own to cast a spell?"

"Very good," said Ollivander, opening up the case and removing a short wand made of a light wood. "Quick boy, you'll do well if you can keep thinking that fast. You're right, but remember that a spell prepared from a spellbook and set to be triggered to a wand, can only be triggered by a wand and nothing else. Also, while any wand can be used, the one to which you keyed the spell will cast the spell most effectively. That's something you'll learn in your third, or maybe fourth, year. It's good to know now though." He offered the wand to Harry. "Try this one on for size."

Harry picked up the thin wooden instrument, flinching when, having expected to feel a jolt of magic, he felt nothing. Flicking it through the air, much to Ollivander's amusement, Harry looked at the old man. "Should I be feeling anything in particular?" he asked.

"No, not really," said Ollivander. "A wand is just a tool after all, and you won't feel anything, unless something odd were to happen, until you use it to cast a spell. I'm just asking how it feels in your hand."

Harry weighed the implement for a moment and shrugged. "A little clumsy, and heavy," he answered. As soon as he'd said it he began to hope he hadn't offended the craftsman. "But it might just be me."

To the boy's relief, Ollivander laughed once. "Well that's perfectly fine. We can keep looking till one fits you right. It's important that you 'feel' the right wand in your hand."

The pair spent the next several minutes pursing the shelves and trying out a number of different wands for the young Potter. Each one felt fine, Harry thought, but Ollivander never seemed quite satisfied. After what must have been an hour had passed Harry began to wonder if the old man just wanted Harry to say that one felt perfect.

"It feels a little too..." Harry searched for a word, twisting his hand around to point the wand straight up, "springy."

"Good, good, we can keep looking," Ollivander said patiently. "Perhaps a yew... or well, wait a moment." He paused and touched his lip with his finger. "I think I have one. Follow me," he quickly lead Harry back towards the front of the store and up the stairs."

"Sir," Harry asked as they climbed. "Earlier you said there were two kinds of wands and you explained about an 'implement.' What's the second?"

Ollivander paused at the top of the stairs and looked back. "Ah, I'd thought you'd forgotten. I'm glad you asked," the man reached out and took a dark wand from a display pedestal. "The second type is called a 'woven wand.' This is on here. See what you think but be careful not to wave it around."

Harry took the instrument and gingerly shifted it from one hand to another. "What is it exactly?" he asked.

"A woven wand," said Ollivander, taking the wand politely back from Harry and handling it as though he expected it might turn and bite him, "is one that has been specially crafted to contain a number of spells that are ready to cast as soon as someone holding it says the trigger word. The brilliant thing about them is that they allow a wizard to cast spells without exhausting his store of prepared spells. The downside is that they're very expensive and dangerous to craft and, if you ever break one it might release all the remaining magic at once."

"Amazing," Harry whispered, looking at the wand on the pedestal. "Can you still use them to cast regular spells?" he asked as Ollivander lead him towards the back of the shops second level.

"Yes, in fact many wizards choose to use them in just such a manner. They'll use the wand to prepare and cast spells like normal and keep their wands 'charged' with pre-prepared spells in case of an emergency. The only problem there is that a craftsman must decide when he first makes the woven wand what spells it's to store as the methods of crafting it are heavily dependent on the exact types of magic the wand is meant to hold."

Harry made another mental note of that as Ollivander stopped in front of an innocuous enough looking shelf containing matte brown boxes. The old man grinned and mentioned that he always kept his favorite wands in the most drab cases, and picked one from the very bottom of the shelf. Opening the box he produced a long, thin wand the color of mahogany and offered it to Harry.

"I'd been holing this one back but... tell me what you think."

Harry picked up the wand and immediately sensed something different about it. His fingers seemed to fit the grooves in the handle perfectly and tighten of their own accord. The muscles in his arm buzzed with an electricity Harry had felt before but couldn't place and, as he looked at Ollivander, the boy's face lit up with excitement. When a small gust of wind from nowhere tossed Ollivander's and Harry's robes, both of the magicians nodded in unison.

"This is the one," Harry said, looking down at the simple implement. "This has to be it."

Ollivander crossed his arms and grunted in approval. "That happens every once and again," he said. "Sometimes a wizard and a wand respond to one another. It's interesting though, that you should respond to that one there..." mused the old man. "Interesting in a way that's almost uncanny."

"Why's that?" Harry asked, suddenly a little nervous.

"Like all wands, that one has a core made from a substance particularly attune to magic. This wand in particular has a core made from the tail feather of a phoenix... a phoenix that donated one, and only one, other feather for me to use in my craft. I say it is interesting that you'd choose that wand when its brother," he pointed to Harry's forehead, "gave you that scar."

Harry felt his blood go cold in his veins. "You mean... You Know Who had a wand like this one?"

Ollivander nodded. "I sold it to him before he was the Dark Lord we all know about, but yes. At the core of his wand, is the other phoenix feather."

"Oh," Harry muttered, uncomfortable.

"Never mind it though," said Ollivander. "I'm quite certain you'll put this wand to better use than its brother. Now, shall we check you out?"

Ollivander led Harry down to the register at the front of the store and rang up the wand. After a discount, on account of Ollivander's fondness for Harry's parents, the boy payed ten Galleons for the implement, and thanked the old craftsman.

"Ollivander, sir," Harry said, stopping in front of the store. "I have another question if you don't mind."

The old man leaned against the counter and put his hands behind his back. "Of course Harry. Anything at all."

Harry thought about how to word the inquiry, and took a steadying breath. "Do you know if there are wizards who can cast spells without wands or spellbooks, just by wanting to?"

Ollivander's eyes narrowed only so much that Harry barely caught the change in his demeanor. "Yes, yes I've heard of people like that. They're not called wizards though."

"What do you call them then?" Harry asked.

Tone a little lower than before, Ollivander got up and walked a little closer to Harry, "They're called sorcerers," he said. "And they're very, very, rare individuals. Before the last known sorcerer there hadn't been one for more than a millennium, thankfully."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and steeled himself to go on. "Why? Who was the last one?"

Again, Ollivander pointed at the scar on Harry's forehead. "The last known sorcerer gave you that mark," he said. "And as far as I know, You Know Who wasn't so different from all the sorcerers who came before him. Nobody I know has ever even heard of a good one."

"Ah," said Harry, trying to fight off a fit of shaking and keep his voice steady. "I see. Well," he forced himself to smile. "Thanks again for the wand and all the help!" Harry turned and left the store, not waiting to hear Ollivander's farewell. Stopping abruptly as the door clapped shut behind him, Harry nearly ran into Hagrid, who stood patiently in front of a cart laden with all of Harry's school supplies.

"There you are," said the giant with a big sigh. "Thought you might have vanished clean out of Diagon. Ready to go?"

Harry nodded. "Yes," he said, almost out of breath. "Yes, quite."

"Well alright then, best be getting- oh, I almost forgot," Hagrid exclaimed, startling the boy. "Happy Birthday," he said reaching to the cart and taking hold a sleeve of cloth covering up a rotund figure. Pulling the cloth away, the giant uncovered a wire cage. Inside on a perch sat a perfectly white owl with bright yellow eyes fixed on Harry. The bird slowly rotated its head ninety degrees to stare at the boy and Harry caught himself beginning to mimic the motion.

"What do you think?" Hagrid asked with a big grin. "Every wizard needs his pet."

"Hagrid, she's beautiful," said Harry as the owl straightened up and hooted, bobbing its head.

"How'd you know she's a she?" asked the giant.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know," said Harry. "Good guess?"

Hagrid shifted from side to side and put his hands in his pockets. "Fair enough," he refocused his attention from the owl to Harry and bent down to be nearly eye level with the boy. "Now Harry, we've got to get you home. I'll be leaving your supplies with you until school time but I need you to promise me something."

Harry nodded. "What is it?"

"Promise me that you won't use that wand of yours to try any magic," the big man's face took on a more serious demeanor.

"Hagrid," said Harry. "How am I supposed to do magic without a spellbook?" he asked.

"I didn't say 'do' now did I," answered the giant. "I said 'try' and I mean it. Even if you can't do any rightful spells, you might accidentally trigger some latent magic that might happen to have collected around the wand. The Weave is funny like that sometimes. Furthermore, the Ministry of Magic has divination spells set up to detect when any underage people uses magic outside of designated areas. Not that they're all that useful really, but if you did accidentally funny something up and the Ministry did happen to catch it then it would create a whole lot of headache for me and Dumbledore, not to mention you."

"Alright," said Harry. "I won't use the wand to cast any spells."

"Good boy," said the giant. "Now, let's get you back."

Returning to Privet Drive seemed to Harry like being taken back to prison the day after his release. Much to the Dursley's chagrin, Hagrid helped, and forced Vernon to help move all of Harry's supplies into the hall outside his closet. After giving Harry instructions to be at the train station's platform 9 and ¾, exactly one month from today, he turned to Vernon, Dudley, and Petunia. Offering them a stern warning that should Harry miss the train or lose any of his supplies, Hagrid would know exactly why, the giant bid Harry a pleasant farewell and left.

Before Vernon could utter a demand for Harry to go to his room and wait there, the boy had already done so and shut the door as he entered. He waited for several minutes, sitting on the bed until he could hear the Dursleys shuffling about the house and trying to get back to business as usual. Retrieving the wooden ball he kept beneath his bed, by now reduced to a perfect sphere the size of a large marble and polished smoother than flawless glass, Harry levitated the orb between his open palms and focused his will.

The tiny eddies of green energy, now manifesting as mostly translucent razorblades the size of ants, crawled over the surface of the ball. Tiny motes of dust occasionally drifting down from the ball provided the only evidence of Harry's magic affecting it at all. The exercise, while repetitive and, for Harry at least, mundane served to clear the boy's head and offer him something he could do with his mind while his more active thoughts turned elsewhere.

_So I'm a sorcerer,_ he thought, the word sticking in his head and leaving him uncomfortable. _And I'm going to be going to a school full of people who, if they even know what a sorcerer is, will probably fear if not hate me..._ The line of reason led Harry immediately to the conclusion that he'd have to hide his talent from everyone. _But how?_ he wondered.

Another hour of thought, more than Harry could usually devote to a single subject, brought the boy an idea. If people hated sorcerers, then Harry would just have to learn to be a wizard **and** a sorcerer. He'd study the science of wizardry at Hogwarts, while working to master the art of sorcery and use the wizardry to cover up his true talent as a sorcerer. _I can already be pretty certain that sorcery doesn't register on whatever means the people in charge use to detect magic,_ Harry thought, _since I've already been practicing magic my way for a long time..._ _So it shouldn't be too hard to learn just enough wizardry to get by while I use sorcery to do anything difficult. That should work._

When Harry heard feet walking up the stairs, two pairs he counted, he decided that his aunt and uncle must be going to bed and as Dudley had since turned in for the night, Harry had the run of the house. Stopping to think for a minute, weighing the risks and benefits, Harry snuck out of his cell to the cart by his door. His feet hovering an inch off the ground to allow him the silence he needed to work, Harry searched for, and uncovered his wand. The plain implement buzzed in his hand as wave of pleasant electricity jolted through his muscles. Retrieving the ball from his room and slipping outside with the wand, Harry set himself in the middle of the backyard and went on thinking for a moment.

_Would using a wand change the magic enough for it to be detected_, he wondered. Looking at the tip of the holly implement, and then up at the dark and cloudy sky, Harry cracked a grin. The chance was too much to pass up. _Only one way to find out._

Harry set the ball on the ground. Aiming his wand at the little sphere, the boy tapped the reservoir of energy in his chest and directed it at the ball with his will. Feeling a pulse of heat roll through his arm and out the wand, Harry mentally demanded that the ball rise up. And it did...

Rocketing skywards like a bullet, the ball shot straight up and disappeared. His head snapping up to try and track the missile proved futile and Harry stood stunned for a moment. Judging by how quickly the orb had moved, Harry estimated that for him to have attempted the same experiment without the wand would have drained a noticeable portion of his reserves. As it stood now however, Harry felt the exercise had been nearly effortless, if uncontrollable.

"I'll have to work on that," he mumbled, still looking up. A quiet plop in the sparse grass to his left drew Harry's attention. After a brief moment of looking around, Harry picked the wooden ball out of the little divot it had punched in the ground upon landing. With a satisfied smirk, Harry slipped the ball into his pocket and returned to his room, deciding that he'd wait a day or two before using the wand to practice magic to ensure that his little experiment produced no negative consequences.

Sitting down on his bed, Harry remembered his trip to Gringott's bank and reached inside the robe he still wore. Producing the envelope that had appeared in his pocket, tore open the top of the blank package and removed the contents. Staring for a moment, his eyes not used to the cluster of twisting symbols and runes, Harry shook his head and focused on the letters he could identify. At the top of the page a flowing script read, "If found, please deliver to Severus Snape."

Not knowing the name, Harry set the paper on his little end table and began studying it under the lamplight. Other than the note at the top, all three pages, margins and all, were devoted to a symphony of oddly shaped symbols and stylized letters interspersed among plus signs, minus signs, equal and inequality signs, and other bits of mathematical language. Harry could only guess that the documents composed some kind of complex chemical, or perhaps magical, formula. For all he knew, this might be a simple one, but Harry's mind tingled with the impression that this collection of shapes and symbols carried with it something important. He hid the papers away in his robe and went to bed.

To Harry the following weeks passed at a snail's pace. He spent all day cooped up in his room with nothing to occupy his time save magical exercises he'd long since memorized. He feared moving on to bigger and bolder tests of his ability, lest something go wrong and he alert the Dursleys or someone worse to his efforts. Hagrid's warnings about the Ministry of Magic, whatever that was, stuck with the boy and tempered his actions with caution, though something in Harry's mind wanted to practice bolder magic simply to spite the rules of a nebulous power telling him what to do. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.

His two real comforts were the night and his owl. He'd yet to name the creature in the cage, but Harry had, over the course of the first week, built up an inexplicably warm bond with the snowy owl. The creature seemed bored to death in its cage and never so happy as when Harry would let her out to sit on his arm or shoulder. The owl, when not watching in fascination as Harry practiced his art, would gingerly preen the boy's hair or nibble affectionately on his collar. At night, when Harry would sneak into the back yard to experiment with the wand, he'd almost always take the owl along.

During this time Harry decided that he could practice controlling magic with the wand without drawing the attention of a higher power. As he worked under the cover of darkness in the yard, while the owl flew circles around the yard or perched on the fence to watch, Harry tried to master the wand with frustratingly little success. While the implement worked beautifully to simultaneously focus and amplify the power he could exert, the displays proved completely beyond his ability to control. Simply trying to lift the ball would hurl it skyward at breakneck speeds. Trying to create gusts of air would batter the Dursley's house with gale force winds. Worst of all, no matter how little magic Harry used to stifle the strength of the spells, control continued to evade him. Even if the spells became less powerful, the remained as chaotic and unpredictable as ever.

The night before he was to head to the train station, Harry sat in the back yard of the house on Privet Drive, flustered beyond words. The frustration churning in his chest brought tears to his eyes and he threw the wand to the ground. _How can I keep this a secret,_ he wondered, _if every single time I try to use this stupid wand I wind up wrecking something._.. He looked at the fence out of the corner of his eye and spotted the golf ball sized hole he'd blasted in it while trying to knock an insect from the wooden planks with a puff of air.

As soon as Harry had realized the spell slithering down his wand would be too powerful and too loud the boy had bent all his effort to muffling the cacophony the blast would undoubtedly produce. The hole had still appeared in the fence and splinters had still hit Harry in the face, but he'd managed to completely silence the noise... and everything else within twenty feet of the fence as far as Harry could tell. He at first wondered if he was deaf, but seeing as how he could still hear his owl hooting overhead, Harry reasoned that he'd accidentally created a zone in which no sound could be produced.

_I'll have to remember that one,_ Harry thought, forcing himself to focus on something other than the frustration of failing to control the wand. He begrudgingly picked up the wand and stared at it. _You and I will have to come to an understanding,_ he thought the words as if to make up for not being able to speak them to the wand. _If we can't get this under control there's no way I'll be able to keep being a sorcerer a secret._

Harry couldn't be sure, but he felt a slight tingle in his fingers, as if the wand had responded to his thoughts. He contemplated again attempting an experiment with the implement, but decided against the action and instead gathered up his owl and the ball and went back inside. He'd need his rest for tomorrow, Harry reasoned.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Alright, next chapter three coming right up. First though, thanks to everyone who reviewed. I can't think of a whole lot to say this early in the game, but I'm sure that I'll come up with something deep and/or inspired to say about the Harry Potter Universe at some point in time. For now though, all I can think of is thanks all!

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Chapter Three – Ambition and Cunning

The speed with which Vernon expelled Harry and his cart of belongings from the car amazed even the young Harry Potter. Standing by the laden cart on the curb, Harry watched as Vernon's tires spun, squealed for traction, and propelled the car away from the station. Breathing a sigh, Harry reached his fingers through the bars of the cage, scratching the owl's neck when the animal hopped next to the bars and extended its head for Harry.

"Let's see what happens next," Harry mumbled, pushing his cart passed the attendants and into the glass-roofed building.

Quickly losing track of events in the hustle and bustle of the train station, Harry pushed his cart down the line of platforms and scanned the many faces pushing passed him. Wearing his wizard robes as he expected to meet people in similar garb, Harry felt completely out of place among all the people in their suits and casual clothes.

"Excuse me," said Harry, catching the sleeve of a station attendant and stopping the man.

"Yes, yes, what is it?" barked the man with the thick mustache.

"Can you direct me to platform nine and three quarters?" he asked. He waited for a second as the man looked down at him with a scowl. "I have my papers right here and it says-"

"Quit wasting my time," ordered the man in the uniform as he turned and began to walk away.

"But sir!" Harry protested.

"Go find your damned parents," the attendant growled.

Still scanning the signs to locate his platform, Harry began wandering around the station with his cart, stopping a number of people and asking for platform nine and three quarters. Met only by dumb looks and animosity as he searched for the train, Harry stopped asking anyone for directions after almost an hour of unsuccessful inquiries. Flustered, the boy looked at the owl in the cage and sighed.

"I don't suppose you know where to go?" he asked.

The owl turned its head all the way around one way, then the other.

"Thanks anyway," Harry muttered. "Maybe I can- whoa!" he jumped to his feet as something cold nudged his hand. Looking down, heart beating in his ears, Harry saw the dark bands of the small black snake slither under his cart. "Sorry," whispered the boy, taking a breath to steady himself. "You just startled me is all."

The snake poked its head out from under the cart and looked up at him, flicking its tongue through the air. "You speak?" asked the ophidian creature, a note of curiosity in its oily voice. "I didn't know humans could talk."

Harry nodded and sat back down. "Sure can," he whispered, casting about to ensure no one saw him conversing with a snake. "But what are you doing here around all these people?"

"I lost my way," answered the serpent. "I was following the smell of rats and toads, looking for the young ones, when I came to this place... I still smell them but... I can't find them..."

Harry thought for a second. "Why would there be toads around?" he wondered aloud. "There's not a lake or pond anywhere near here is there?"

"No," answered the snake. "It's confusing. There's not a rat to be found either..."

Glancing about, Harry looked up at his snowy white owl and a thought occurred to him. Remembering Hagrid's words from a month ago, Harry tapped the ground by his cart to get the little snake's attention. "If you could move around the people here without any of them bothering you, do you think you'd be able to track down the scent of the rats and toads?" Harry asked.

The snake looked back up at him and flicked its tongue. "Possibly. Why?"

Harry held his arm down so his flowing sleeve hung open and brushed the ground. "I'll make you a deal," said the boy. If you agree to lead me to the smell, I'll carry you passed the other humans to the source. Sound fair?"

The snake turned and looked out at the crowd of bustling people, primarily at their feet. Watching as they stomped here and there, the snake tasted the air and turned back to Harry. "Deal," it said, slithering into his hand. "Don't squeeze me or I'll bite," it added as Harry picked it up. "You wouldn't like that."

"I won't," Harry said, reaching up to the pocket sewn into the breast of his robe. Quick as a thought the snake slithered out of his hand and into his pocket. It coiled up and stuck only the tip of its elongated head out of the pocket, it's black scales blending into Harry's robe and rendering the animal next to invisible. "Comfy?" asked the boy.

"No," answered the snake. "But this will do for now."

"Alright," Harry stood up and looked through the crowd, as best he could given his distinct lack of height. He glanced down at his pocket as the snake flicked its tongue to catch the scents in the air. "Smell anything?"

"Plenty," said the animal. "Nothing remotely pleasant aside from the rats and toads, but..." it paused. "Start walking."

Harry took hold of his cart and began pushing it aimlessly through the crowd as the serpent went quiet. He did a lap around the platform and stopped near where he'd first met the snake. "Got it yet?" he asked as politely as he could.

"Go back," said the serpent. "The smell was stronger a moment ago."

Harry retraced his steps, drawing a number of odd glances from the people packing the busy station and stopped when the snake shouted for him to do so. He began walking again when the animal hissed that he needed to turn left, then right. Sluggishly making his way about the station as the snake gave rough directions of "left" or "right."

"Stop," whispered the snake, bringing Harry to a halt. "Here. Through this door."

Harry looked around and tapped his robe. "This is a wall," said the boy, looking at the blank brick face before him. Standing before an unremarkable wall of red brick and stained off-white mortar, Harry glanced around at the station's ninth loading platform. Slithering part way out of the pocket, Harry's temporary companion looked at the wall with one eye and tasted the air.

"Oh," muttered the snake. "The smell is strongest here though..." confusion permeated the reptile's tone. "Never mind I suppose. Perhaps if we-"

Harry turned and the snake reflexively ducked inside the boy's pocket as a hand touched Harry's shoulder. "Excuse me," said a woman's voice. "Might we get through?" The redheaded woman with bright brown eyes smiled at Harry and quickly looked him over. "Are you off to school too then?" she asked, gesturing at Harry's robes before he could answer.

"Uh, yes ma'am," Harry answered, spotting the three boys, each sporting hair as red as the woman's and carts laden like his own with all manner of supplies and hangers bearing black robes. Additionally there was a single girl with ghostly pale skin and a great number of freckles standing next to the woman. "But I'm having trouble finding platform nine and three quarters," he said, guessing that there could be no harm in mentioning the ostensibly fictitious place one more time.

"You're right on top of it," said the woman, she stepped back and pulled Harry aside. "It'll be simpler to just show you. George, Fred, you've both been through this. Go on ahead."

Standing between the woman and the youngest of the three boys, Harry held onto his cart and watched as the two older sons, identical twins Harry thought by the looks of them, each rolled forward.

"Care to go first?" one asked of the other.

"My pleasure," answered the second.

"Too bad!" retorted the first with a laugh, shoving his own cart towards the wall and running to push it up to speed. Harry gasped, convinced the boy was going to hurt himself, but stopped short of reaching out as the cart and the boy disappeared through the wall as if they'd passed through a veil of colored smoke.

"Stinking cheater!" called the second twin, rushing after the first. Not to be outdone by his brother, the redhead hopped up on his cart and rode it through the illusory wall.

"Boys!" hollered the woman, scowling. "I told you not to show off! Better be glad they're out of my hair or I'd..." she shook her head and turned to Harry. "I'm sorry about that. Do you think you see how it's done?"

"They just ran at the wall?" he asked, pointing and staring.

The woman nodded. "You can't walk it. If you do you'll just his a solid wall. We charmed the bricks so the muggles couldn't fall through by accident. You can only make it if you run at a good clip." She motioned to the other boy, a shorter character with freckled pale skin and bright blue eyes beneath a tangled mop of hair. "It's Ron's first time too. Go ahead son, give it a go."

Ron went just a little bit paler and swallowed the lump in his throat. "You sure about this?" he asked.

"Give it a try," she went on and turned to Harry. "It'll be alright, so why don't you go right after Ron then?"

Harry nodded and pushed his cart behind the redheaded boy. Steadying himself as Ron rushed forward with his cart, Harry watched as the boy passed through the wall effortlessly. _Now,_ he told himself, ignoring every instinct in his mind and racing for the wall. He jolted, despite or perhaps because of the complete lack of resistance as the wall slapped around him. Catching his breath, Harry pulled his cart up right beside Ron's and glanced around.

Emblazoned in big gold letters on a bright red sign "9¾" hung on chains from the ceiling of the brick loading platform surrounding a big red train. Wandering all about there were men, women, and children all adorned in black robes and carrying suitcases or pushing carts up to the edge of the train. The twins, Harry saw, had already made their way to the train and begun lugging their belongings up the stairs into the nearest compartment.

"Wow," said Harry, looking around at all the action. "Even for magic that was weird..." He turned around as the woman and the girl both came running through.

"Ah, well then," said the woman, stopping in front of Ron and straightening her hair. She bent down and kissed Ron on the top of his head. "Do you need any help getting your things packed away?" she asked.

"I've got it," Ron answered, looking around to make sure no one was watching too closely before giving his mother a big hug.

"Promise you'll write your sister and me," she said.

"I promise," said Ron, taking hold of his cart.

Harry put one hand on his luggage and glanced at the train. "Thanks very much for showing me the way," he said to the woman.

"No trouble at all," she smiled back at him and put a hand on her daughter who, Harry noticed, hadn't taken her eyes off him. "Come on Ginny. Let's get home to your dad."

The girl looked up at her mother with an anxious grin. "But I want to go too," she said. "I really, really do."

"Ginny Weasley, I could hardly get you to come this far," laughed the older woman. "Besides, you'll get to attend Hogwarts next fall."

"But I want to go now," Ginny pined, pointing at the train. "Please?"

"No and that's the end of it," said her mother, not unkindly.

Poking its head out of Harry's pocket only just enough to see around, the snake flicked its tongue about and scanned the scene. "Fascinating..." it hissed. "So this is where the smell came from... there must be dozens of rats around here." The snake stopped and looked towards Ron's cart as Mrs. Weasley and Ginny both went back through the wall. It spotted the rat in the cage on the cart and slunk back inside Harry's pocket. "If it's all the same to you," it hissed to Harry, "I'm going to wait here until I get a good chance to make a break for elsewhere."

Harry nodded without speaking to the snake and turned to Ron. "So, that was your mom?" he asked.

Ron nodded. "Sure was," he answered. "So where are your parents?"

Harry flinched but shrugged off the pang in his chest. "I live with my aunt and uncle," he said. "They dropped me off here."

"Gotcha," said Ron. "Well, you need any help loading your things on the train?"

Harry nodded and together he and Ron pushed their luggage to the train. Both helping each other, the two managed to carry the contents of their carts to the baggage cars and get their things situated for the trip. As soon as that was done the pair made their way to the passenger compartments and found an empty car. Another forty-five minutes went by that the boys filled with chatting about nothing in particular before the train heaved once and began rolling down the track.

"Say," said Ron as the train pulled out. "I never asked you name."

"Harry Potter," Harry answered. "Nice to meet you Ron."

The Weasley boy's eyes widened some and he leaned forward in his seat. "You're Harry Potter?" he asked. "The, you know, the boy who lived?"

Harry grinned a little as the train bumped along. "I don't think anyone's ever called me that before," he said, a friendly edge of sarcasm coloring his tone. "Not to my face at least."

"So you've got the scar?" asked Ron, motioning to his forehead with his thumb. In response Harry pushed his hair up over his forehead, revealing the jerky line over his brow to his partner. "Wicked!" Ron mumbled. "So all the stories are true then? About You Know Who and all that."

"Can't say for sure," Harry answered. "Nobody's told me much of anything at all, other than that I'm some kind of celebrity."

"You're way more than that!" Ron exclaimed. "You're the one who destroyed You Know Who. How could you not know that you beat the most evil person ever?"

"I don't remember," Harry stated plainly. "Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Ron stammered. "Nobody knows for sure," he said. "As far as I heard, V- I mean You Know Who, started a big war years ago and he was going around destroying the wizarding world. Then he got to you and something happened and Boom! He was gone."

"Just like that?" Harry probed.

Ron shrugged. "Just like that. You Know Who went to kill you and when it was over you were the last man standing... or baby sitting I guess."

Again thinking about what Hagrid had said in Diagon Alley, Harry took a moment and mulled the information over. He smirked a little, not sure he liked the idea of being famous for having defeated the Dark Lord when, in all reality, Harry had only been the target of a spell that went horribly wrong.

_But,_ _there might be advantages to being a celebrity. _Harry thought as the conversation turned to small talk. Ron began bragging about his older brothers, one of whom, Ron seemed only too proud to point out, was a dragon trainer in eastern Europe. Harry however was happy enough to listen. The redheaded Weasley seemed likable enough, despite a squeaky voice. Harry caught himself thinking, as Ron went on about his mother Molly's cooking, that perhaps simply sitting and talking with someone was what having a friend felt like.

"Hey Ron," Harry said while staring out the window and watching the country fly by. "What do you know about Hogwarts?"

"Only what I've picked up from my older brothers and parents, but I could tell you some of the basics."

"Well it's a boarding school, right?" Harry prefaced the next question. "So how many students do they have and how big is the place?"

Ron thought for a second holding his pet rat in his lap. "I have no idea how many students they have, but Fred and George say it's a lot. As for the building itself, the main castle is huge!" Ron spread his arms to emphasize the word. "Both my parents graduated from Hogwarts and both of them together never explored or even saw every room."

"Wow," said Harry, jostling a little as the old train hit a nasty bump. "How do they keep track of the students in a place that big?"

"Well there are a lot of places we aren't allowed to go. And the teachers regularly patrol the halls, and so do the house prefects, so it's not like there's no one watching the place." Ron answered.

Harry cocked his head. "What in the world's a prefect?" he asked. "And what do you mean by house?"

Ron began to answer, but the door to the car sliding open stopped him. He and Harry both turned to see a girl with frizzy brown hair standing in the entryway.

"I don't suppose any of you have seen a toad hopping around here?" she asked. "A boy named Neville Longbottom has been looking for his since we left the station."

The snake in Harry's robe pocket hissed to itself. "Smelled plenty of them, no eating yet though."

"Can't say that I have," said Harry, ignoring the snake. "Do you need any he-" The train hit another massive bump that jostled everyone in the car. The girl fell forward, failing to catch herself on the door's frame. Harry moved to catch her, but a quick misstep wound up putting him right in her path. The girl's forehead smacked Harry right in the nose and the two fell to the floor in a tumble. Quickly helping both of the others to their feet, Ron pulled the two up and got them settled in the seats.

"Are you alright?" asked the newcomer, reaching up to rub her forehead and look across the car at Harry as she shirked her heavy backpack onto the seat.

Setting his broken glasses in his lap ad holding his nose with both hands, Harry nodded. "No blood," he answered. "I think my glasses took the worst of it." He released his face and looked down at the broken frame and shattered glass. With a quick sigh he decided that spontaneously repairing them in front of Ron and this girl couldn't be a good idea and he'd have to wait.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. "Here, may I fix them for you?"

Harry nodded. "Sure, how are you going to do that?" he asked.

"I have a few cantrips in my book and I think I know just the one to work this out." she reached inside her backpack and pulled out a book the size of a large dictionary. Setting it in her lap and opening it up to one of the first pages, she reached out to Harry and motioned at his broken glasses. "Thank you," she said when he put them in her hand. She set them on the book.

"Why do you already have your own spellbook?" asked a wide-eyed Ron. "And why is it already stocked with spells?" he went on, looking down at the runes meticulously etched in tiny, yet pristine, writing on the crisp parchment. "Underage magic is illegal!"

"The Ministry doesn't care if a little girl uses a few little spells once in a while, even assuming they detect it," the girl said, rolling her eyes at Ron. "Nobody does. And I bought the book a few weeks ago in Diagon so I could get a head start on practicing my spells." She reached into a little leather pouch hanging from her belt and drew out a bit of lint and tiny line of copper wire. "I'll need just a moment to get it ready," she said.

Harry and Ron both went quiet as their visitor focused all her attention down on the densely packed lines of runes. Only her eyes moved as she scanned the symbols, though occasionally her mouth would twitch as though she were about to intone a word. After three or four silent minutes had passed during which time Harry guessed that she'd been able to read maybe half a page, the girl looked up and breathed deep. "Alright," she said, reaching into her robe and drawing out a wand not too dissimilar from Harry's.

Picking up the lint and wire, and flicking the wand through a quick pattern while muttering a word Harry didn't understand, the girl focused intently on the broken glasses resting on the book. As her eyes grew large and she exhaled steadily, she pointed the wand at the glasses. In a quick puff of smoke, the lint and wire burned into nothing. Harry felt a small wave of heat roll outward from the girl as the glasses mended of their own accord, the frame twisting back into place and ruined lenses regenerating from nothing.

"Whew," said the girl, setting her wand aside and shaking her hand. "It always gets so stinking hot." She turned to Harry and handed him the glasses as she blew on her fingertips.

Flinching in surprise, Harry blew on the frame before putting them on. "They're warm," he said. "Very warm."

"Magic generates lots and lots heat," said the girl, "Pulling all that energy out of a spell component isn't resistance-free you know. Even low level cantrips can singe your fingers if you're not careful. Higher level spells will burn you badly if you don't take precautions to cast the spell right. I've even heard stories of wizards catching fire because they tried to cast a spell too quickly using a highly resistant component."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I'll remember that," he said, noting that whenever he used magic he never felt excessively hot. "Thanks very much."

"Pleasure," said the girl. "I'm Hermione Granger," she went on to shake both Harry's and Ron's hands. "And you two would be?" she probed, wearing what Harry thought might be a cocky grin as she closed her spellbook and put it back in her pack.

"Ron Weasley," said Ron, glancing at Harry with a mocking imitation of the girl when Hermione turned away.

Trying not to laugh at a shocked Ron when Hermione snapped her attention back to the redheaded boy, Harry cleared his throat to get her attention away from Ron again. "Harry Potter," he said. "Very nice to meet you. Do you need a hand looking for that toad then?"

Clandestinely striking a bargain with his traveling snake, Harry agreed to held the reptile catch all the mice and spiders it could eat as soon as they reached Hogwarts if it would help them track down the missing toad. Working in such confined spaces as the train cars, Harry and the serpent, who introduced itself as Bacid, quickly located a, if not the, rogue toad hiding beneath the backpack of a second year student near the front of the train. Cho, as she she introduced herself after calming down from the anxiety of someone pulling a toad from behind her feet, thanked Harry, Ron, and Hermione for getting it away from her.

"How did you know it was there?" asked Hermione incredulously, staring at Harry.

"Lucky guess," Harry grinned.

"Sure," said Ron, horror painted on his face as he looked down at the toad he'd been made to carry. "Oh," he muttered in a combination of a groan and a whimper. "Can we just find Neville already? I think this thing just peed on me."

Harry and Hermione both looked back at Ron and, indeed, something was dripping through his fingers. "Ew," they took a step back in unison.

"I don't suppose you have a spell to clean his hands?" asked Harry.

Hermione sighed and ignored the question. Looking through all of the train cars, Harry made a point to stand between Ron and whoever sat in the compartments to shield his new friend from any teasing. Working their way nearly to the back of the train, the trio found Neville Longbottom sitting by himself and looking completely distraught. As soon as the boy looked up and saw Ron and the toad however, his eyes lit up.

"Trevor!" Neville shouted, bolting across the car and, much to Ron's relief, taking the toad. "Thank you all, thanks very much," Neville said.

"No problem," said Harry. He took a quick glance around the car and spotted only one traveler's bag. "Are you all by yourself?" he asked.

Neville's smile faded before he replaced it with a less genuine one. "Not anymore," said the boy. "Now I've got Trevor with me again."

Harry looked between Ron and Hermione before turning back to Neville. "Would you mind terribly if Ron and I got out bags and came back to join you? It's a lot less noisy back here."

Neville froze for a second. "I don't think I would," he said, stuttering as if completely off guard.

Ron looked at Harry, but said nothing as the boy with the scar faced Hermione. "Care to join us?" Harry asked.

"I- um," Hermione's reaction mirrored Neville's. "I wouldn't want to just leave everyone in my car," she answered. "We were having a lovely chat before I went looking for Trevor there."

"Alright," said Harry, "however you like it."

With that, Hermione hurried back to her car while Ron and Harry returned to theirs to get their carry-on bags. Ron packed up the bagged lunch his mother had sent with him before turning to Harry.

"You're a strange person," said the Weasley. "You know that?"

Harry smirked. "I get that a lot too. What makes you say so?"

Ron shook his head. "Forget I said anything," he said. "That Neville," he sounded on the verge of laughing as he changed subjects. "I think you nearly scared the living daylights out of him when you said we'd come back to join him."

"Nobody should be sitting alone like that," said Harry, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "It isn't right."

"Maybe," said Ron. "My dad's good friend's with the Longbottoms, or he was at least, before the Wizarding War with You Know Who. Neville's parents fought the Dark Lord too. They went toe to toe with him more than once but... it didn't end well. Neville lives with his grandmother now."

Harry paused, before pulling open the car door. "That's sad," he said. "I thought he seemed awfully timid."

"He's always been that way," Ron answered, following Harry into the hall. "Looking at him you'd never know he was supposedly a descendant of King Arthur."

"What?" asked Harry, turning to Ron with a disbelieving grin. "Ron, King Arthur is only a fairytale."

Now it was Ron's turn to laugh. "I keep forgetting you're still not used to being out of the muggle world. Harry, every wizard knows the stories about Merlin and Arthur are true. Merlin was the first great wizard after all and Arthur was his student."

"I'm learning something new every minute," said Harry. "But still, descended from King Arthur?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, or at least that's how the family history goes. Back in the middle ages nobody exactly issued birth certificates, but Nevilles's family is supposed to be from that bloodline. So's mine for that matter."

Harry shook his head. "Now you're just messing with me. Is everyone in the wizarding world from some old family of kings and wizards?"

"No," Ron countered, sounding almost insulted. "But that's just how the family stories go... the Weasleys come down through his wife Guinevere, and the Longbottoms are from Mordred and Morgan le Fay."

"Alright, if you insist." Harry stopped by a closed door and looked in through the glass. Inside, Hermione Granger sat alone, her spellbook open in her lap. Intently staring down at the pages and mouthing a silent incantation, the girl traced her finger along the lines as her eyes scanned them. Harry stepped aside as Ron stepped up next to him.

"Well if she wants to be alone," said the redhead. "I say we leave her alone."

"I'll at least make the offer," said Harry, rapping on the glass with his knuckles of his free hand and shifting so the motion wouldn't disturb the white own in the cage he carried in his other.

Startled out of her reading, Hermione turned and looked up at the window. Harry motioned for her to come with them, but the girl just shook her head and turned back to her book. Harry faced Ron and shrugged as the two of them set off back down the hall.

"I tried," Harry said as they reached Neville's car and walked in.

"You tried," Ron echoed as the boy with the toad scooted over to make room for one of them to sit.

The three boys sat in the car for the duration of the trip, telling stories and jokes and talking about their families... or Ron talked about his family at least. Harry and Neville both avoided the subject and changed it whenever they could. When a trolly of candy and snacks stopped by, Harry spent two Sickles and bought best of the stock, much to his companions' delight. Ron, Neville and Harry had barely finished their sweets by the time the train came lethargically chugging to a stop.

Meeting Hagrid at the train station in the town of Hogsmeade, Harry and the giant both helped the other two boys get their luggage loaded on the rafts that would carry it along the lake to Hogwarts. As the daylight faded, Neville, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and handful of other students all piled onto one of the many boats meant to carry the students up to a side gate in the castle. When the last vestiges of sunlight had gone out behind the horizon, the boats lining the shore of the enormous lake pushed off, guided by silent figures in black cloaks wearing golden masks.

The spires of the castle looming overhead like obsidian monoliths, studded with points of light shining out from countless windows took Harry's breath away as his boat landed. Wading ashore through the knee deep water, Harry whispered to Hermione and asked her who founded the castle and when, to which she responded that he shouldn't be talking. Walking up the exposed stairs on the side of the castle, Harry couldn't stop himself from looking over his shoulder and down at the line of figures, robed like himself, that extended all the way down to the beach.

Harry, Ron, and Neville all looked around as they passed under a massive arch of light stone and into a courtyard constructed of white marble. The cloaks and hoods of the new students stood out starkly as what little light filtered into the stone yard from the surrounding windows and arrow slits seemed to reflect from the polished marble brighter than before struck the stone. As the students all lined up in front of wide steps leading up to a tall door made of dark wood, a woman in a cloak so deeply red as to be nearly black, stepped out from around a pillar beside the massive wooden door.

She clapped her hands once, the biting sound echoing around the courtyard and silencing the murmurs undulating through the crowd of students. "Now that I have your attention," said the old woman, her voice proving as harsh a sound as the still ringing clap, "my name is Professor Minerva McGonagall, and you will all follow my directions in a timely and precise manner. As I lead you to the main hall for the sorting ceremony, there is to be no talking, no running, no whispering, and no commotion of any kind, at any time. Now, follow me," she turned around and pushed the big doors which swung in on creaking iron hinges. The warm light, a glow which felt nearly identical to true sunlight, that flowed out of the doors and lit up the courtyard dazzled Harry and the other students.

Making sure to stay close together, Neville, Ron, and Harry walked with the flowing body of black cloaks up the stairs to follow McGonagall under the arch. Inside the hall, Harry's mind felt as though he'd been suddenly turned upside down. Shining down from glass panes shaped like skylights, the warm, realistic sunlight shattered the nighttime mood, forcing Harry to spend a moment refocusing his attention. So, rather than pay particularly close attention to where he was walking, Harry simply followed the cloak in front of him and before he knew where he was, the boy found himself passing under another massive arch and into a hall of startlingly grand proportions.

Every footstep seemed to take entire seconds to echo back to the new students as they marched down the center of the massive chamber. Their path, flanked on either side by dozens of enormous tables laden with what must have been hundreds of other cloaked students, lead straight to the grand stage at the back of the hall. McGonagall stopped in front of the three granite steps to the stage, and instructed the new students to line up at the bottom, facing the raised platform. As Harry did so, he saw a number of people, Hagrid among them and also the turbaned man, Quirrell, on stage. The figure that drew Harry's attention fastest however, was the old man in huge, flowing robes.

Standing behind a golden podium crafted in the likeness of an eagle spreading its claws and wings at the end of a dive, the old man rested his hands on the tips of the podium's wings. His amaranthine robes, embroidered with silver and gold, flowed to the floor in inverted plumes as he watched the students line up. Harry felt the sharp eyes under the pronounced brow spot him from the podium, and he shook as what he could only describe as a wave of radiating willpower nearly knocked him from his feet.

McGonagall gestured to the man at center stage. "Headmaster Albus Dumbledore," she said with a bow directed to the stage.

"Good evening," said the old man, brushing the top of the stand with his hands. His voice boomed around the hall like distant thunder, sounding too rich and full for a man even half his apparent age. "Allow me to welcome you all, both new and returning scholars, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Allow me to welcome you to the finest institution of magical instruction in the world."

Harry listened as the headmaster briefly stated how, for every year he'd been at the lead in Hogwarts, it had been his pleasure to welcome the new students. Dumbledore went on to point out that everyone in the lineup before him brought something unique and special to the school and he looked forward to the coming year and all of the growth it would undoubtedly bring. When Dumbledore began introducing the teachers and professors, Harry made a point to memorize who was who and taught what. Quirrell was Defense Against the Dark Arts, McGonagall and many others taught a variety of subjects, but who caught Harry's attention most was the man sitting silently and perfectly still near the back of the collection of teachers.

"Severus Snape," Dumbledore announced, "is Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master for all Hogwarts."

As soon as Harry heard the name he resolved to give the man the letter that had appeared in his cloak at Gringott's, if only to help resolve the mystery. He turned and looked down the lineup of students as subtly as he could, reading on almost every face the same look of anxiety and uncertainty. _What in the world is that?_ The young Potter wondered, spotting beside Dumbledore a low stool on top of which sat a wrinkled and pointed hat.

"And now," said Headmaster Dumbledore, stepping aside and standing next to the bench and the hat and picking up the old article. "I will call, in alphabetical order, all of the new students and let the Sorting Hat decide to which house they will go."

Observing at first in amused curiosity, and then in fascinated wonder, Harry watched as Dumbledore called to the stage a girl with auburn hair and bright blue eyes, and instructed her to sit on the stool. Dumbledore took the wrinkled hat and set it on the nervous girl's head. After a moment of silence, Harry jumped when the hat spoke. He could hear it speaking and see it's wrinkles folding into a face to project the words for all to hear. In a tone similar to a musing dreamer, the hat muttered the girl's name and listed off some of her attributes, eventually declaring "This one to Ravenclaw!"

All of the students at a number of tables closer to the east side of the room erupted into applause and cheers as the girl got down off the stage and Dumbledore directed her to go and sit with her cheering peers. Harry's lips twisted up into a wide grin. _Amazing,_ he thought. _Somehow the hat reads minds... that or the whole thing is a crock but that wouldn't be nearly as impressive._

Dumbledore called several more students up to the stage and the hat subsequently sorted them into one of the houses of Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff. Coming to Hermione's turn, Ron nudged Harry and nodded to the girl.

"Betcha she winds up in Ravenclaw with all of the other smart ones," Ron whispered.

"Hmm," mumbled the hat. It grumbled for a moment without uttering anything coherent to the crowd, then shouted "Gryffindor!"

A moment later Neville was called to the stage. Trembling so violently he nearly fell from the seat, the boy audibly sucked in a near panicked breath the moment the hat touched his head.

Ron nudged Harry again. "Hufflepuff," he whispered.

"Gryffindor!" shouted the hat.

Harry smiled as Ron's jaw dropped. "Maybe that hat knows something you don't," said Harry.

Neville, turning redder than any tomato, hopped down from the stool, thanked Dumbledore in a trembling huff, and ran down from the stage to the nervous clapping of the Gryffindor students, Sorting Hat still on his head. After Dumbledore called Neville back to the stage and took the hat from him, the Headmaster sent the boy along with a subdued grin and a pat on the back.

Now Harry tapped Ron with his elbow. "Make sure you go and sit by him when you're sorted," whispered Harry.

"What makes you think I'll make Gryffindor?" asked Ron. "And why don't you go sit by him?"

"Just a thought," Harry answered.

"Draco Malfoy!" McGonagall called, drawing the smugly grinning Draco to the stage.

The boy sat down and Dumbledore moved to put the hat on his head. Before the magical hat's brim had even brushed the top of Draco's head, the animated object shouted out "Slytherin, Slytherin, Slytherin for this one. No doubt about it."

All of the students at the tables to the west cheered as Draco walked down to join their ranks. Harry grinned to himself and waited for his name to be called. When McGonagall shouted Harry's name, the boy, despite the nerves buzzing all through his frame, calmly walked up the steps and sat down. Looking out over the crowd, Harry saw for the first time just how big the main hall truly looked. He guessed there must be a thousand people in the room.

As Dumbledore set the hat on Harry's head, the boy heard the thing grumble to itself. "Interesting," it said. "Interesting and very odd. Plenty of courage, a good deal of both intelligence and natural talent too... and work ethic's there as well but those are... well, hm." It paused for a long second and Harry felt his heart beginning to thrum in his ears with anticipation, remembering only now that he still had Bacid laying silent in his pocket. As the hat sat ruminating, Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and watched. "Ambition," said the hat at last. "Lots and lots and lots of ambition and cunning. A level of guile matched only by latent loyalty and courage... well perhaps..." The hat again went silent until it exclaimed "A Slytherin if ever there was one!"

Harry scanned the faces in the crowd, spotting Draco Malfoy immediately and smirking just a bit when he saw the look of horror spreading over the boy's face. He saw Hermione too, sitting by Neville and wearing a disappointed expression that matched Longbottom's. Harry told himself as he hopped down from the chair, removing the hat himself and handing it politely to Dumbledore, that he'd work hard to stay friends with Neville and try to make friends with Hermione too. Ron, Harry saw as he walked down the steps, looked positively shocked, like a light breath of air might knock him over.

Crossing the room and only just beginning to hear the cheers which had erupted from the Slytherin tables, Harry walked up beside Malfoy and sat right next to him. "Looks like we're in the same house after all. I'm glad your dad was right," said Harry, his words too polite to be genuine.

Draco forced himself to smile, a gesture that looked ready to shatter the boy's face like porcelain. "I see we will be," he reached out and offered to shake Harry's hand. Both boys squeezed the others hand far too tightly for a simple greeting. "I'm sure we'll be great friends," Draco said through his shut teeth and a saccharin smile.

"Gryffindor!" the hat shouted after a moment of resting on Ron's head.

After the last of the new students were sorted into one of the four houses, Dumbledore again took the podium and addressed the crowd. He informed them of where their respective dorms were located, who their house prefects would be for the upcoming year, and about a certain hall on the third floor that was to remain strictly off limits. "To anyone who does not wish to die a most painful death," said Dumbledore in a voice that left Harry incapable of determining if he jested or not. Immediately thereafter Dumbledore clapped his hands and the empty dinner plates set out on all of the tables filled with all kinds of food that the students immediately tore into.

Sitting with Malfoy on his left, Harry turned to another first year student sitting to his right. One of the first people called up, the girl wore her inky black hair long and pulled into a loose braid. To get her attention, Harry tapped her on the shoulder and asked her if she could pass that pepper.

"Thanks," said Harry, taking the silver shaker. "I'm Harry Potter by the way."

"Tracey Davis," answered the girl. "Nice to meet you." She turned in her seat to get a better look at him. "Are you _the_ Harry Potter then? You're the boy who lived?"

Harry nodded, pushing his hair away from his forehead to show her the scar above his brow. "That's what everyone keeps telling me," he answered, going on to somewhat awkwardly ask Tracey about her family to strike up a conversation.

Tracey happily obliged, telling him that she was a pure-blood and going on, when Harry asked what that was, to explain that a pure-blood wizard's parents were both of magical heritage. When Harry asked if Tracey knew anything about Hogwarts in general, or had any useful advice, the girl shook her head and said that she was as new as Harry, but her brother might. Pushing herself up to get a better look around the table, Tracey quickly spotted whoever she was looking for and waved at a boy at the next table.

Getting up from his plate and wiping his mouth on a napkin, a tall boy walked between the tables and stepped up next to Harry and Tracey. "Hey sis," he said, sitting down at the empty spot next to his sister. "What's going on?"

"Travis," said Tracey, gesturing to her brother and then to Harry. "This is _the_ Harry Potter," she drew out the words. "We were were just wanting to talk to you actually."

"Ah, good to meet you Harry," said Travis, reaching over his sister to shake Harry's hand. "I saw you get sorted up on stage and I wondered if you were the real Harry Potter. Good to have you in Slytherin."

Tracey leaned back a little so both Harry and Travis could better see her and each other. "Travis," said the girl to Harry, "is a fourth year so he knows the ropes and what to expect." She looked over at her brother. "Think you could share some advice with the both of us?" she asked, nudging Travis with her elbow. "Something useful this time?"

"I can do that?" said Travis, he focused more on Harry now. "Anything in particular you want to know?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know enough to ask any good questions," he said. "Do you have any advice on the basics like, what are some good rules to know about and who are some good friends to make?"

"Both good questions," said Travis, fiddling with the stubble on his chin. "As far as rules go... the most important thing you can remember is never, ever, ever get on Snape's bad side. He's a nice enough person in general but there's no one in Hogwarts who can hold a grudge better than him and he will make your life a living hell if you make him angry. Other than that just remember to use common sense and good manners. You know, don't go wandering the halls at night, always get permission from a teacher to go to any of the lower levels, and if you ever run into a griffon be as polite as possible or it will snap your hand off."

Harry grinned a little, suspecting that Travis was joking about the griffon bit. "I'll remember that," he said.

"I'm deadly serious," Travis went on. "Griffons have a massive superiority complex. Treat them like royalty or you'll regret it. Phoenixes are the same way. As for friends to make, there's one rule there that covers the whole subject."

"And what's that?" asked Harry.

"You can never have too many," said Travis. He sighed and shot a quick and venomous glance at Draco who had turned his head to eavesdrop. "Some people, especially pure-blooded families forget that, and Slytherin's reputation has suffered from the stigmas of bigotry and stupidity for it."

Draco took a sip from his goblet, looking straight ahead. "I can't help it if Hogwarts has started letting all the trash from the gutters flow in and that all of the good wizards are suffering for it."

Travis took a quiet breath and pursed his lips for a moment before addressing both his sister and Harry. "That's exactly the attitude I'm talking about," he said. "A lot of people, even those in Slytherin, will tell you that Slytherin is all about being pure-blooded and unfortunately they'd be partly right. But that's not how it's supposed to be. Slytherin is _supposed_ to be about cunning, resourcefulness guile, and ambition... not just family history. So Harry, for what it's worth, try to remember that you'll never accomplish anything trying to do everything by yourself."

Harry nodded. "Good advice. So, if I pay you a Sickle a week, will you do all my homework for me?" he joked.

Travis and Tracey both laughed. "See," said the older boy. "You're thinking like one of us already. And no, you'd have to make it at least five for me. Though if you find a second or third year in Ravenclaw they might be willing to take that price."

"I was only kidding," said Harry.

"Oh," Travis sniffed. "No big deal then." The fourth year student paused and looked across the table at an attractive girl waving him over. "Hey, just remembered something" he said. "I've got to get going but if you ever need help with anything, don't be afraid to ask. Travis got up and kissed his sister on the top of her head and patted Harry on the back. "See you later."

"Hope that helped," said Tracey once Travis was out of earshot and merrily flirting with the girl at the end of the table.

"Some," said Harry. "But was he serious about buying people off to do homework? That seems awfully underhanded."

"Well duh," Tracey laughed and knocked playfully on Harry's head like a door. "Of course it is. That's kind of the point, isn't it?" She paused and waited for Harry to respond, but went on when the boy with the scar just looked at her curiously. "Harry, there's only one thing in the world that matters," she said, "and that's winning. If you have to break the rules to win then so what as long as you wind up farther ahead for it."

Draco made a quick groaning sound in his goblet. "Finally," he said, "some good advice."

"What if people get hurt or you wind up losing a friend trying to get ahead?" asked Harry.

"Well then you obviously didn't get ahead," Tracey answered. "Winning doesn't always mean being the one who gets all the glory or coming out on top of a fight. Sometimes winning means just living to fight another day, or having enough friends willing to stand up with you that you don't have to fight at all," she smiled at him. "After all, if you piss off everyone around you to get what you want, then you won't have what you wanted for very long, now will you? And if everyone around you likes you, then it won't be to hard to get whatever you want without even having to really work for it."

"I suppose that makes sense," said Harry. "So the idea is to win at all reasonable costs... but if that's the case, then why let me in on all this?"

"You're Slytherin now," said Tracey. "You and I have at least that much in common so we have at least a few similar goals now. The better off you are, the better off the house will be, the better off I am."

Harry smirked. "And it works the other way too. It's better for the both of us," he motioned between Tracey and himself, "if the two of us cooperate... or at least don't fight. It puts us both one step closer to getting what we want."

Tracey patted him on the back. "Exactly. And I'll let you on a little secret my brother told me on the train... one of the best ways you can get Slytherin and yourself farther ahead is to have friends from every house at Hogwarts."

"Because...?" Harry probed.

"Think about it," said Tracey, glancing around and seeing everyone starting to get up from the tables and line up near the many side doors in the grand hall. "I'll let you figure that one out on your own. C'mon, it looks like dinner is starting to wind down."

Following Tracey and the other Slytherin first years, Harry trekked through some of Hogwarts many winding corridors and down to a lower level within the castle. Passing through an opened steel door, Harry twitched in surprise as moisture dripped from the low ceiling and plipped down into the shallow layer of slowly running water that flowed down the hall.

As the prefect leading the procession went down the line of students and passed out dimly glowing green torches, identical to the ones at Gringott's, Bacid stuck his pitted head out of Harry's pocket and flicked its tongue to taste the cool, humid air.

"I like it here," said the snake, "It's colder than back home but I think I can adapt."

Harry nodded and accepted the torch handed to him, ignoring the serpent as it slid back into his robe's pocket. Stepping in front of Tracey politely so she wouldn't have to walk with a shining light behind her head, Harry moved one space up the line and followed the procession as the prefect led them down into what Harry guessed must have been a system of strangely clean and odor-free sewers. Stopping in front of a small portrait hung at eye level on the wall, the prefect turned to the line of students.

"I hope you memorized the way here," he said, then turned back to the portrait and said, "Pure-blood."

The portrait, invisible to Harry from his angle, made a hissing sound as a seam opened in the wall around it, revealing a hidden door that opened inward. Leading everyone inside the prefect stood at the door as the first years entered. As students passed by him he'd take their torches and warn them to watch their step, since a single stone stair rose above the standing water in the tunnel.

"This is the main common room," said the prefect as Harry, one of the last in line entered. "You're currently under the lake so if you feel the urge to toy with the ceiling... don't. All of the dormitories are located down the various halls as marked, and your rooms are labeled as well. You'll find your belongings in your rooms." The prefect stopped and shut the door as the last of the students entered. "Welcome to Slytherin," he said after blowing out the luminescent green orb on the end of the torch.

Harry looked around and immediately reasoned that the common room must have been remodeled some, or perhaps very little, from an old dungeon. Ten meters on a side, with a high vaulted ceiling that seemed to glow by itself and cast a green light over everything, the size of the room alone might have given Harry agoraphobia if not for the black furniture scattered densely throughout. Branching off from the common room, eight hallways lead deeper into the dungeon and twisted off at varying angles. Three ran west, three ran east, and two went north. Down each hallway, Harry could see doors set in the walls at even intervals.

"The list of who sleeps where is over there," said the prefect, pointing to the halls running east. "Girls will be sleeping in the rooms down the first hall, boys will have the rooms down the second. If anyone is caught in the room of someone of the opposite sex after curfew, the repercussions will be unpleasant."

Harry and Tracey walked with the rest of the new students to the big piece of parchment nailed to the wall and Harry scanned it for his name. "Room 44. That just sounds unlucky," he muttered. "And there's why," he quickly added, seeing that on the map room 44 stood at the end of the hall where he'd be sharing quarters with Draco Malfoy.

"Sorry," said Tracey, putting a hand on Harry's arm. "I'll send flowers for whichever one doesn't make it."

"Who's your roommate?" asked Harry, ignoring the icy and caustic stare from Malfoy, but feeling the gaze burn into the side of his head.

"Pansy Parkinson," Tracey read the name directly off the list. "I don't think I've met her... You want to do breakfast before classes start?" she asked, turning back to Harry.

"Sure," said the young Potter. "I was thinking I'd try to track down Ron or Neville and see about eating with them, but the more the merrier."

"Meet at seven, here in the common room?" Tracy said as the other students began to disperse down the hall.

"Works for me."

"See you then," Tracey waved as she turned and jogged down the hall to the girls' rooms, leaving Harry more or less alone in the common room with Draco.

Harry turned and smiled at his roommate, mostly to keep himself from saying something regrettable.

"Oh shut it, Potter," barked Malfoy before Harry could utter a word. "Don't talk to me and I won't talk to you and we'll both pretend the other doesn't exist." He stomped down the hall without giving Harry a second look.

"Whatever works," Harry shrugged. As he followed Draco down the hall, Harry casually wondered what exactly he'd done to earn Malfoy's disdain. Upon reaching the door to room 44 however, Harry decided that what he'd done didn't matter so much as that Draco seemed determined to be troublesome.

Entering the room, Harry glanced around and guessed that the dorm had probably been a number of prison cells at one point, though the walls had since been knocked down to accommodate furniture such as desks, beds, and nightstands. Harry took a deep breath when he saw his owl resting comfortably on a perch by one of the beds. Opening a big yellow eye and quickly walking up completely when it saw Harry, the animal hooted happily at the arrival of its owner.

"I swear if that bloody bird wakes me up even once," said Draco as Harry crossed the room to pet the owl, "I'll feed it to the Whomping Willow."

"And if you do," Harry said without missing a beat, though he struggled to suppress the bile welling up in his chest, "I'll turn you into a mouse and feed you to a snake." Harry heard Bacid laughing quietly in his pocket.

"Please do, please do," said the serpent. "I'm starving."

"My father..." Draco grumbled, "he'd- he would turn you inside out!"

"Barring getting along, can we please just agree not to speak to each other?" Harry knelt down in front of the large chest at the foot of his bed and lifted the lid. _I'll need to get a lock put on this,_ Harry thought as he rummaged through the contents, making sure all of his supplies were accounted for. _I'm sure there's a charm for that, but until then,_ he shut the lid and willed the latch behind the simple handle of the chest to twist around its casing, effectively sealing the lid. The magic flowing out of Harry felt like a lack of air in his lungs, but the extra effort had been worth it to ensure the effect went off silently.

Harry flopped on his bed, glad that one of the cell walls had been left up to partially separate his quarters from Draco's. For a moment he listened to Draco rummaging through his trunk. Harry put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

"Hold on you," whispered Bacid, poking his nose into the open. "You're not going to sleep just yet. You're going to help me catch my meal tonight as soon as this noisy child goes to bed."

"Just what kind of snake are you?" asked Harry, whispering so Draco wouldn't hear.

The snake opened its jaws wide and rose up, revealing a mouth full of puffy white tissue that stood out plainly against the serpents inky black body. Two fangs, each seeming too long for such a small snake, dropped down from Bacid's upper jaw and twitched. As the serpent closed its mouth again and dropped its head back down on Harry's robe, the boy nodded.

"As soon as Draco goes to sleep," he muttered as Bacid slithered back into the pocket. Harry shook his head. He'd never had much chance to study snakes, but even he recognized a water moccasin from the pictures in his elementary science book. How a juvenile pit viper from the United States had made its way to a train station in London, Harry couldn't even guess.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Hmm. I have actually made a decision... yes, please try to contain your shock. In light of recent developments, I've decided that I'm going to be posting this story in arcs rather than individual chapters. Hopefully this will be a nice middle ground between the knee-jerk posting I've done in the past, and the idea of complete-story posting I've long kicked around. With any luck it should allow for much greater cohesion within the arcs, far less wild mass guessing and frustration on the part of the readers, and more convenience for an author with a schedule tightening like a noose.

Anyway here comes the rest of the first arc so don't expect author's notes until the end of chapter eight.

* * *

Chapter Four – Flights of Fancy

"Hey, Harry!" Ron shouted from across the great hall. He stood up and waved as Harry and a girl strode in from one of the side passages. "Over here!"

Harry and Tracey, both already carrying plates of food from the kitchen made their way to Ron's table and sat down with the Weasley and Neville Longbottom. Harry introduced Tracey Davis to both of his friends from the train and all four students set into the breakfasts.

"Potions with Snape on your first day of classes," Ron shook his head at Harry. "I can't believe your luck."

"What's so great about it?" asked Harry after finishing off a glass of orange juice.

Tracey laughed as Ron put up his hands. "No, not great," said the redhead. "I can't believe the kind of rottenly bad luck you wound up with. Everybody knows Snape is a creep who'll flunk you out of school for not raising your hand to talk."

"Maybe flunk a Gryffindor, but he'll go easy on someone in Slytherin," said Tracey. "Don't worry Harry," she turned to the boy. "Just don't say anything too stupid and Snape shouldn't give you a hard time. And don't make him say anything twice... and try not to raise your hand unless you know you have the right answer... and make sure to keep your significant figures straight... oh, and never comment on-"she paused. "Perhaps actually it would be better if you didn't say anything at all."

"Noted," Harry muttered. "Thanks, now you've both got me worried. How do you know so much?"

Tracey smirked. "My brother is a fourth-year, and both my parents were in Slytherin. I might have also had an older sister in Slytherin who graduated not too long ago."

Neville cleared his throat and piped up. "If you ever have trouble in Snape's class," said Longbottom, "I might be able to help you out."

"Oh god," Ron put his chin on the table and looked up at Harry. "I'll bet he would. The man's got stacks of books in his trunk on botany and alchemy and everything else you might imagine. He could probably teach Snape's classes himself."

"I was just offering to help either of you study for Potions," said Neville. "You don't have to make fun of me."

"I wasn't making fun," Ron said. "But last night all your reading kept me up. You do know that you tend to read things aloud, don't you?"

Neville flinched. "Oh, sorry. I didn't know that. I'll work on it..."

"Are you two roommates then?" asked Harry.

Ron and Neville both nodded. "Yeah," Ron answered. "Who'd the two of you get paired up with then? Not each other I hope," Ron teased.

"Draco Malfoy," said Harry.

"Pansy Parkinson," muttered Tracey.

"Oh," said Ron. "Well sorry to you Harry, but I don't know Pansy."

Tracey shook her head. "You don't want to. Her only redeeming quality is that if you ignore her long enough she eventually gets bored with talking about herself and her pure-blood family and goes away."

"Dracos's not much better," added Harry. "But as long as he leaves Hedwig alone I won't mess with him."

"Hedwig?" pressed Neville.

"My owl," said Harry.

"Finally named her did you," said Ron. "About time."

Harry shrugged. "I was going through a book on magic theory I found in my trunk and the name jumped out at me. And she seemed to like the title well enough."

The four students chatted casually for the next twenty minutes, pursuing aimless conversations and telling jokes over the remnants of breakfast. Ron and Neville, Harry gathered, had hit off a friendship that already made it appear they'd known each other for years and Tracey wasted no time in complementing both boys on whatever aspect of their character stood out to her. In contrast to the warm atmosphere growing between his group of four, Harry noticed Draco Malfoy sitting at a table a few rows away. Flanked by a girl and two large boys who looked nothing if not brutish, Draco sat in silence as the girl chatted and generally made herself the center of activity. Just beyond them, sitting as alone as one could in a hall full of people, Harry noticed Hermione Granger. No one sat within three seats of her and the girl appeared completely intent on the small textbook open on the table in front of her.

Over the course of the meal, Neville finished before everyone else and reached inside his cloak. Drawing out a small ball made of clear glass wrapped in bronze bands, the boy began fiddling with the device while everyone turned to watch when red smoke appeared inside the ball.

"What is that?" asked Harry.

"It's a Remembrall," said Longbottom. "My grandmother gave it to me. See, when you touch it and the smoke turns red it means you've forgotten something important."

Harry grinned and watched the crimson smoke turn in on itself and curl about. "That must be useful."

"The only problem," said Neville, "is that I can never remember what I forgot."

When breakfast broke up, everyone went on to their own classes. Tracey hurried off to get an early seat in her Conjuration course, while Ron and Neville jogged off to a class with Professor Sprout. Harry ran into Draco on his way out of the main hall, quite literately bumping into his roommate as both boys came around a blind corner and knocked each other to the ground.

"Sorry," said Harry, scrambling to his feet and offering Draco a hand up.

"Completely my fault," said Draco, stunning Harry, both by taking his hand and dusting Harry down when both had straightened up. "I didn't see you so it's my my fault. Are you OK?"

Harry stood speechless for a second, wondering if someone had used magic to impersonate Draco. "Um, yeah, I'm fine," Harry stammered. "You?"

"Fine, fine," said Draco. "Listen, I just wanted to say I think we got off to a horrid start yesterday and I don't want you to get the wrong impression of me. We're both Slytherin after all and it's not like you're a muggle or anything. So," he held out his hand and shook Harry's. "Start over?"

Harry nodded. "Sure," he answered, both amazed by and glad to be getting along with his roommate. "Where are you off to?"

"Introductory Transmutation," said Draco. "You?"

"Potions with Snape."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You'd better hurry then since going the wrong way," said Draco.

"But Tracey said the potion's lab was in the western turret," said Harry.

"Tracey Davis couldn't find her butt with both hands and a map," Draco said. "The potions lab and Snape's office are both in the east wing, third floor, room 3012. Got it?"

Harry eyed Draco as carefully as he could, but couldn't tell by his face if the boy was lying. "You sure?" he asked.

"Positive," Draco answered. "I'll be his teacher's aide starting next week so I know that's where he has classes. Besides, sending you to Snape's class seems a lot meaner to me than giving you bad directions."

Nodding, Harry shifted the pack slung over his shoulder and thanked Draco. Malfoy smiled and waved Harry off as the boy jogged down the hall. Reaching the east wing proved easy enough, and Harry made it to the labyrinthine section of the castle with five minutes to spare before class, but as he hustled up the stairs to the third floor, Harry quickly found that the straight passages and ninety-degree turns that made up the rest of Hogwarts vanished into a twisted mess of passages and blind corners. Right as the clock struck the hour, Harry reached the closed door of room 3012.

Pulling open the heavy door and stepping inside as his heart raced, Harry stopped at the threshold and peered around for an open seat, only to immediately spot Tracey Davis sitting in the second row. The girl looked up at him and took a second to recognize Harry's face. The instant she did though, Tracey's eyes went wide and she nodded up towards the front of the class.

"Mr. Potter," said a severe, if vaguely feminine, voice from the front.

No sooner had Harry heard his name than had he spotted Minerva McGonagall standing, arms crossed, in front of a blackboard at the head of the stone room. Harry's mouth dropped open and he stared for a second in shock.

"This-" he started, his brain searching for words as the rest of the class all looked at him, "isn't Potions with Professor Snape."

A hushed whisper ran through the collection of students as Tracey put her hand up to hide her face. McGonagall shook her head. "You're on the wrong side of the castle," she said. "That class is in the west turret, just off the main hall."

"Ah," Harry said, his face beginning to turn a bright shade of red. "Thank you Professor," he bowed. Excuse me."

Minerva closed her eyes and again shook her head slightly from side to side as Harry turned and raced from the room. "Alright class!" she raised her voice. "Who can tell me what Conjuration entails?" The door to the room closed with a low boom.

Harry sprinted down the hall from which he'd come, finding the big stairwell immediately and racing down three steps at a time. More than once he nearly fell on his face but recovered with a jerking leap. Racing to the main hall, Harry turned and found the passage where he'd met Draco and, already sweating and out of breath, ran for the stairs at the end of the corridor. Jumping up multiple stairs per bound, Harry climbed to the top of the massive tower and cast about to get his bearings in the new hall. Seeing a door at the end of the hall, clearly labeled 'Potions Laboratory' Harry ran for the portal.

Not bothering to take even a second to compose himself, Harry threw the door open and stepped inside. Breathing heavy and scanning the room full of pillars and wooden tables lined on either side with stools, the boy turned his attention to the front where a tall man arrayed in robes of green and black stood writing on the board. Turning away from the wall covered in blackboards, Snape's steely gaze locked on Harry.

"Mr. Potter," said the Potions Master, an edge of frozen calm in his voice. "I was beginning to wonder where our newest celebrity had wandered off to so early in the year."

"Sorry Professor," Harry said quickly, noticing from the corner of his eye Draco Malfoy sitting next to the girl he'd noticed from breakfast. The pair of students both looked at the latecomer with sneering expressions as Harry turned back to Snape. "It won't happen a second time."

"See to it that it doesn't," said Snape. "And sit," the order rang in Harry's head like a bell.

Harry walked to one of the open seats near the front, where the only open seats happened to be located, and set himself down directly beside Hermione Granger. The frizzy headed girl glanced at Harry from the corner of her eye as Snape began lecturing on the history of Alchemy and Potion-brewing as a science that emerged in the late thirtieth century before Christ. After Harry reached into his bag and drew out both his text on potions and a notebook, beginning to scribble down every word Snape said, all his attention drifted away from his tardiness and he focused completely on the class ahead of him.

"Now!" Snape broke abruptly from his lecture and turned on Harry. "Since, Mr. Potter, you were studying so hard before class as to lose track of time and be late, perhaps you wouldn't mind answering a few questions on the subject of potions and alchemy." Snape's lip twisted into a nearly imperceptible grin as Harry looked up in wide-eyed horror. "Can you tell me Mr Potter, what two acids do you combine and in what molar ratio to produce Aqua Regia?"

Harry sat stunned for a moment. Hermione looked his way and, seeing his situation, raised her hand.

"Mr. Potter?" Snape probed.

"I – I don't know sir," Harry answered.

"Really?" the Professor went on. "Perhaps then you can tell me what is the most common use of titanium trichloride."

Again Harry sat dumbfounded and again Hermione's hand bolted skywards.

"Fine," Snape went on, crossing his arms and turning to the side. "But then surely you know with what chemicals do you mix osmium and St. John's Wart to produce Castor's Maid?"

Harry could only shake his head, even as Hermione raised her hand a third time. The girl even went so far as to lean in front of Harry just a little. Snape sighed and turned to Hermione.

"Miss Granger," he said.

"Aqua regia is a combination of nitric and hydrochloric acid mixed in a 3 to 1 ratio, titanium trichloride is most often used to produce smoke powders, and the other chemicals in Castor's Maid are sulfuric acid and silver nitrate." Hermione blurted.

Snape's face hardened but he smiled a very little at the girl. "Very good," he said. "Five points to Griffyndor. Mr. Potter, I hope that in the future you'll try to be as competent as Miss Granger."

As Snape went back to lecturing and Hermione settled down, Harry, biting his lip and looking down to hide the moisture in his eyes, focused on the notebook beneath him. Again scribing every word that came out of Snape's mouth, as well as the information Hermione had effortlessly rattled off, Harry tried not to look at anyone in the room. When, however, a small bit of folded paper fell onto his notebook, Harry cast a quick glance over at Hermione just as she went back to her own notes. Waiting until he was sure Snape would be writing on the board for a minute, Harry took the note from beneath his sleeve and opened it up.

_Don't feel bad,_ he read. _None of those formulas are even covered until the end of the year and the bit on Castor's Maid is only in the Third Year's Alchemy book._

Harry smiled just a little and put the note in his pocket.

As soon as class ended and the students had begun packing up their things, Harry slipped his notes and his textbook into his bag and shouldered his pack. He waited until most of his classmates had gone before walking to the front of the room where Snape stood reviewing some of the symbols written across the board.

"Professor?" Harry said, quietly as though the knot in his chest still weighed him down.

Snape turned around and eyed Potter for a moment. "Yes?" he said at last.

Harry reached inside the pocket in his robe and felt around for the folded piece of parchment. Simultaneously he tried to discern whether the Professor's attitude towards him had been because of his tardiness or if there was something else in play. "Ah, here it is?" said Harry, pulling out the paper that had appeared on his person in Gringott's. "I have no idea what it is," said Harry, holding out the paper, "but it's addressed to you."

"Really?" Snape toned, his interest apparently at an all time low until he began reading over the symbols. His eyes grew noticeably wider as he read, and he set the papers on his desk before turning back to Harry. "Where did you get that?" he asked.

"It was in a vault at Gringott's" said Harry. "Or in my family's vault at least. I couldn't make heads or tails of it so... I thought you might have more use for it than me."

Snape was quiet for a moment, his eyes darting between the paper and Harry. "You're going to be late to your next class if you dally here any longer," said the Professor. "One more incident and you'll be sent to detention."

"Yes sir," said Harry, turning and scurrying from the room.

SC

Harry's spirits leapt when he learned that Slytherin would be sharing their flying classes with Gryffindor. After the disastrous potions class, Harry was eager to see his friends again and wasted no time finding Ron, Tracey, and Neville in the grassy courtyard on the field outside the school. The other three students met Harry next to a line of brooms set on the ground a few meters off from the main body of children.

"I can't believe you listened to Draco," Tracey reached up and pulled on Harry's ear as if to open it wider as she spoke. "Never - listen - to" she enunciated each word with crystal clarity "Draco - Malfoy."

"Got to agree with her there," said Ron, patting Harry on the back. "Draco's probably just a sadistic twit who isn't going to change. You might as well get used to it."

Harry nodded. "I guess. Doesn't change anything though. He still made me look like an idiot."

"You'll get even," said Neville. "There will be plenty of chances for that."

All of the students turned as a loud clap sounded overhead. When they looked up and saw a woman in a deep red cloak riding a broom out of the sky, everyone stepped away from the center of the yard to give her the room to land.

"Alright!" said McGonagall, landing and taking a few steps to slow down before stepping off the broom and holding it up at her side. "Alright, let's get started everyone. Gather around."

All of the students closed in around McGonagall as she lead them over to the line of brooms laid out on the neatly trimmed grass. Lecturing for a moment on the necessity of safety above all else, McGonagall picked up a broom, ostensibly little more than a knotty tree branch with a tuft of straw tied to one end, and held it out to the class.

"Now," said McGonagall. "Before we go on to actually show you how to fly one of these, because each and every one of you _is_ going to at least levitate, there is one very important question that I'm going to wait for one of you to ask."

McGonagall went silent and waited. All of the students began to look around at one another and a few muttered conversations sprung up as everyone tried to determine what it was McGonagall wanted them to ask. Harry spent a long minute staring at the broom, entranced by its plain and unremarkable ugliness. He tried to reconcile the idea of magic being able to do so many amazing and wonderful things with the necessity of those who practice magic to use such mundane items as brooms.

"If magic is so wonderful," said Harry, looking up from the grass to address McGonagall and drawing her attention, "then why do we use brooms to fly? Why not use a car unless there was something about the broom that gave it a real advantage?"

McGonagall smiled. "A point to Slytherin," she said. "And the answer to that question," she went on, "is because magic is a science. It has set laws and rules on which it operates without exception, and principles to which it adheres with very few exceptions. Now, Mr. Potter, for another point to Slytherin, do you think you can say what features give a broom a practical advantage over a car or a bicycle?"

Harry thought for a second. His stomach turned when he realized that all of the other students were watching him or whispering around him, though no one posited an answer. "They're simple," Harry said at last. "A brooms is just a stick and some straw meaning their probably much easier to enchant than something complicated like a car."

McGonagall's smile brightened. "Another point to Slytherin."

Patting his arm, Tracey leaned next to Harry. "Good job," she whispered.

"Mr. Potter is right," said the old woman in the dark red robes. "Brooms are essentially the most practical device a wizard or witch can enchant to fly. But of course a broom meant for flying has to be produced with flight in mind, else it will be nothing but a stick and some straw. At their cores, flying brooms are like a wizard's wand. They have a core of magically conductive material encased in a wooden body. The core of the broom, when activated by a wizard, begins drawing energy from the surrounding environment and converting that energy into lift and thrust.

"For an additional point, can anyone tell me then, why bother with the tail of the broom which must likewise be made of a magically conductive material?"

Harry this time remained silent as Hermione's hand shot up and McGonagall called on the girl.

"The brooms need to stay cool," said Hermione. "Resistance to the flow of energy results in a lot of heat built up in the core of the broom so the bristles act as a sort of radiator to keep the broom from overheating."

"A point to Gryffindor," said McGonagall. "Very good Miss Granger. That's also why higher end brooms utilize steel or silver bristles as metal acts as a much better radiator than straw... though for the purposes of these low-speed practice brooms, straw will work just fine. Their cores are so burned out anyway that it doesn't really matter how much of your will you direct at them. Now, everyone pick a broom, and stand on its left."

Walking forward, all of the students lined up on the left sides of the brooms and, upon McGonagall's instructions, held their right hands over the broomsticks.

"These brooms," said the teacher, "have been enchanted to respond to the command word 'up' used in conjunction with a snap of the fingers. Try it now."

Everyone snapped their fingers and commanded the brooms. A few of the sticks were slow or jerky in their response, but without exception all of the brooms leapt up into the hands of the commanding students. Harry's, much to the young Sorcerer's surprise, rocketed into his palm as though it couldn't wait to get there. Grinning at the response, Harry felt a tiny bit of magic flow out of him and guessed that the core of the broom was reacting to his innate magic.

_This should be fun,_ he thought, watching as the rest of the brooms, all identical to his own, seemed sluggish by comparison.

McGonagall peered down her sharp nose at Harry, but addressed the class as a whole. "We're going to take it slow," she ordered. "I want you all to step over your brooms, place it in the fork of your legs, and wait. Remember that that brooms are enchanted to respond to the direction in which their noses are pointed so if you point the nose-"

"HELP!"

Everyone turned as Neville shrieked and began lifting off the ground. Gripping the broom in white knuckled fists, Neville clutched at the stick and pulled the nose into the air. Screaming in panic as the broom responded by bolting into the air like a lazy arrow, Neville clutched even harder and the broom shot higher into the cloudless sky. By the time McGonagall had turned and seen what was going on, Neville was already twenty meters in the air and spiraling and careening out of control towards the castle wall.

"Oh dear, not another one," the Professor whispered. "Longbottom!" she yelled at the top of her lungs. "Lean back to slow down and turn!"

Neville screamed as he and his broom smashed into the wall. The wooden shaft disintegrated into a cloud of splinters and Neville fell. While the student body yelled in shock or watched in silent terror, Neville reached out as he fell passed a second floor window. He caught the ledge as McGonagall ran towards him, but his grip failed to do more than slow him down and the boy dropped, crashing to the ground with a heavy thump. As everyone ran towards the child, Neville began to cry and clutch at his wrist.

McGonagall bent down beside him and quickly examined the boy. "Well it's not as bad as it could be," she said, looking at the broken radius protruding from Neville's wrist, "but it's not exactly good." Reaching into her robes she drew out her wand and from a pouch on her belt she gathered a small pinch of white powder. Holding the sandy mix in her open left hand and pointing the wand at Neville, she uttered a word and flicked the wand.

Burning up in an instant and singeing McGonagall's hand, the powder disappeared and the tip of her wand flashed white. Harry watched in awe as, like it was guided by a deft and invisible force, Neville's broken bone shifted and popped back into place. The gory rift in his skin remained, and blood still trickled from the wound, but the bone had moved back to its proper place and McGonagall breathed a sigh.

"Come on," said McGonagall, helping a whimpering Neville to his feet and slinging his good arm over her shoulder. "Let's get you to the infirmary to finish the job." She turned and addressed the rest of the class. "I'll be back shortly, and if any of you have so much as touched a broom, I swear I'll expel you myself."

Everyone waited in silence as McGonagall helped Neville walk towards the postern door set in the side of the castle. When she had gone inside, Draco Malfoy bent down where Neville had fallen and picked something out of the grass. Holding it up to the sun, the Remembrall flashed in Draco's hand and the boy grinned wickedly.

"Well what do we have here," said Draco. "Isn't this a pretty thing."

Harry stepped forward and thrust out his hand. "That's Neville's. Give it here Malfoy," he demanded.

Draco turned on Harry, smug. "Or you'll what?" he asked.

Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve and pointed it straight at Draco's forehead, not saying a word.

"You wouldn't dare," said Draco, wiping the smile fading from his face but refusing to back away. "I don't think you have any spells prepared... I don't think you know how to prepare any or even have a spellbook... meaning that wand is a useless stick."

"You willing to test that thought?" asked Harry, not lowering his wand and considering the implications of blasting Draco with a wave of his innate magic. _No..._ thought the sorcerer. _That would draw far too much attention._

Draco glanced around at the crowd of students which had formed, and he smiled at Harry. "I dare you... if you can." He paced forward until the point of Harry's wand poked right between his eyes. "Go ahead," said Draco, holding the Remembrall out to one side and giving it a quick shake. "Do it."

Harry's eyes narrowed. Slowly he lowered his wand.

"See, I knew it," Draco laughed. "You don't-"

Harry lunged out and took Draco's wrist in both hands. Grappling Malfoy part way to the ground. Trying to wrench the Remembrall from Draco's grip, Harry accidentally threw his elbow into Malfoy's nose, filling the air with a sharp snap. Draco yelped in pain as the rest of the crowd gasped, but grabbed Harry by the throat and shoved him away.

"You shit!" Draco reached up and felt the blood dripping from his nose. As Harry regained his balance, Draco ran to the line of brooms and commanded one to leap into his hands. "If you want it so bad, come and get it!" Draco angled the broom into the air, lifting off and hovering a few yards above the ground.

Harry, pursued by Hermione and Ron, ran to the brooms. Harry held his hand over one and barked "up" prompting the stick to leap into his hand.

"Harry," Hermione called as the boy mounted the broom. "Don't be stupid. You can't even fly."

Draco laughed from the air. "And even if you could you'd never catch me. Father's had me in flying lessons since I was five! You're outmatched Potter!"

Glaring at Draco, Harry kicked off the ground and rocketed up towards the hovering boy. As Hermione stood dumbfounded and the look of smug superiority on Draco's face melted in surprise, Harry aimed the broom to sweep by his adversary. Clutching the Remembrall and rolling out of the way, Draco dodged as Harry shot by and turned the broom around to hover in midair.

"Last chance Malfoy!" Harry yelled. "Give it back or I'll knock you off your broom."

"Fat chance!" Draco laughed, turning the broomstick around and shooting off as fast as the broom allowed.

Leaning forward, intuitively understanding the more obvious controls, Harry directed the broom after Malfoy and chased his target higher into the air. Harry gritted his teeth as Draco began to pull away. The sluggishness of the broom made it impossible for Harry to catch his mark and he could only pursue Malfoy as Draco aimed his broom even higher and began flying over the roof of the castle. Looking down sent a rush of excitement through Harry's nerves as he saw just how high he'd flown. Seeing all of Hogwarts and the surrounding grounds put things in perspective and he clutched his broom a little tighter... but then he saw Malfoy hovering three hundred feet away.

"Draco!" Harry shouted, straining his throat to get Malfoy's attention. "This is your last chance!"

"Try it!" Draco shouted back, his voice barely overcoming the whistling cross breezes whipping through the clear morning air.

Harry angled towards Draco without propelling himself forward. Somehow, Harry thought, Draco knew how to force his broom to go faster. The young sorcerer knew his broom couldn't possibly move fast enough to catch Draco by surprise... unless. Harry tapped the well of magic in his chest and directed the energy into the broom. Some of the magic must have reached the worn-out core, Harry thought as the broom began to grow hot beneath him and the air around the boy began to buzz. Gritting his teeth and locking his ankles tight beneath him to grip the broomstick, Harry resigned himself to his plan and leaned forward.

Like a bullet from a gun Harry shot forward. The wind exploded into a deafening roar in his his ears and the blast of cold dried out his eyes in an instant as Harry tried to aim for Draco. Through his blurred vision, the boy thought he saw the look of horror on Malfoy's face as Draco turned around and rocketed up. Harry adjusted course and gave chase, closing the distance between himself and the fleeing Malfoy in an instant. He choked off most of the energy he was pouring into the broom to slow down as he came up beside Draco and reached out.

"Give it here!" Harry screamed, grabbing Draco's arm and tugging on him.

"Let me go!" Draco raised a leg and kicked Harry in the flank.

The two struggled for a moment, looping downwards and back up, swooping almost out of control as they fought for the Remembrall in Draco's hand. As adrenaline completely overshadowed reason, Harry reached for just a little more magic and shoved his palm into Draco's chest. Unleashing a bolt of intangible force, Harry jerked as the equal and opposite reaction blasted his arm back with a bone numbing reverberation. Draco screamed and shot off his broom as if smashed by a sledgehammer, while his mount dropped like a stone.

"Help!" Draco screamed as he fell towards the roof.

Head thumping in hot pain from the sudden exertion, Harry looked around to get his bearings. Vision still blurring, he spotted Draco falling and angled his broom downwards without a second's thought. Reaching for yet more magic, his head beginning to burn, Harry poured energy into broomstick's core. Humming like a bee the broom responded and bolted towards Draco. Harry reached for Draco again and caught him by the wrist. He heaved to break Draco's fall and managed to pull the both of them out of their collision course for the roof and aim for the grassy courtyard where the rest of the students watched the entire episode in terrified awe.

Harry screamed with effort as he fought to slow their fall. The broom's core had just had enough and the vehicle's humming ceased with a pitiful sputter. Panicking as the ground raced up to meet them, Harry tried for more of his sorcerous power, but through the screaming pain in his skull all he could sense was that he'd completely drained his reserves and run out of power.

Above all the noise and chaos in his mind, Harry heard a single word ring in his head. For a split second his senses rebelled against him and Harry neither saw, nor felt the impact. Harry could swear he was falling towards the ground as gently as a feather wafting through the air. Then it occurred to him that he and Malfoy both were indeed drifting towards the ground at an impossibly slow speed.

When they set down on the grass as softly as if they'd just stepped off their brooms, Draco gasped and went limp, fainting and dropping to his back. Harry, hunkered down on all fours as his stomach turned and his brain worked to make sense if what in the world had happened. He hadn't even processed that all of his classmates and the students from Gryffindor had rushed around him and Draco. All Harry could see was the crimson robe flowing down to the ground in front of his face.

Looking up, Harry saw the tall old man with the huge white beard looking down at him. It occurred to Harry that Headmaster Dumbledore was speaking, as his lips were moving, but Harry heard nothing. He dumbly stared up and tried to reason out why he wasn't dead.

"-alright," Harry heard Dumbledore's drumming voice begin to push through all the white noise and confusion as the Headmaster slowly stooped down to look at him. "Harry, can you hear me? Nod your head if you're alright?"

Wracking his brain for words but finding none, Harry exhaled deeply, coming to grips with being alive, and nodded once. He stammered as his mind tried to process spoken language, then swallowed and nodded again. "I'm alright," he said. "I think... Is Draco OK? Where's the Remembrall? What happened?"

Dumbledore shifted and helped Harry into a sitting position while patting the boy on the back. "Draco is unharmed," he said quietly. "You're both fine." The old man grinned widely. "As for what happened... During my first flying lesson, I too went a bit above and beyond the normal parameters of the class and wound up falling quite a long way. Since then I've made it a point to keep a Feather Fall spell prepared at all times."

"The Remembrall," said Harry, still shaking.

Turning to Malfoy again, Dumbledore spotted the glittering orb still clutched in the boy's grip. "Ah, is this what started it all then?" he asked, prying it loose from Draco's fingers and holding the sphere up to the light.

Harry nodded. "He took it from Neville when he fell off the broom and I tried to get it back."

"Ah, well then in that case," he offered the orb to Harry, stood up when the boy took it, and helped Harry to his feet. "I think I'll let you be the one to give it to him. For now though," said Dumbledore as McGonagall came sprinting out of the postern door towards the students, "I think we might have bigger things to worry about than falling to our deaths." He winked at Harry.

Dumbledore stepped between the students and McGonagall as the woman in red arrived, yelling at the top of her lungs that everyone in school had seen the display of defiance and disobedience. Putting his hands up and speaking as softly as ever, the headmaster told the teacher that no real harm had come of the event and that he would handle the consequences personally. Harry paid minimal attention however. All he really cared to sense was the sudden feeling of a dozen hands on his shoulders and people asking if he was alright.

"Where did you learn to do that?" Ron slapped him on the back. "You flew like you belonged in the Quidditch World Cup!"

Hermione pushed her way through the clustered students and stood right in front of Harry, putting her hands on her hips. "You're a bloody idiot!" she shouted. "What were you thinking other than a big fat wad of nothing!" she poked him on the forehead. "You could have been killed you dummy!"

"Lay off Hermione," said Ron, putting a hand between Harry and the girl. "Leave the hero alone."

Tracey put a hand on Harry's shoulder and rubbed up and down his arm. "That was amazing," she said, halfway laughing. "Just don't do it again."

"Harry," said Dumbledore, turning around and looking at the young sorcerer, prompting the boy to break away from the students and approach the old wizard.

"Yes sir?" said Harry, words still wavering as they left his lips.

"I think it's safe to say that you won't miss a terrible lot if you accompany me to my office where we can discuss the exact nature of what happened today." He looked over at McGonagall. "If you'd please, take Mr. Malfoy to the infirmary and ensure that he's not battered up too badly?"

SC

"I'd always looked forward to the day you'd come to Hogwarts, Harry," said Dumbledore, taking a seat behind the big mahogany desk at the back of the office. Keeping with the theme of the room, a great relief of a phoenix in flight sprawled across the front of the desk, wings extended and beak open in a silent cry. Books lined the shelves which covered three of the room's four walls from floor to ceiling, leaving room for lighting fixtures only on the ceiling where a golden chandelier hung down in the center of the tall room. "Truly, I always have, but you're going to have to be more careful than this if you don't want to find yourself in a great deal of trouble."

"I'm very sorry," said Harry, sitting in the chair opposite Dumbledore. "I just wanted to get the Remembrall back for Neville is all. His grandmother gave it to him and it's important to him. I couldn't just let Draco get away with that."

"I understand that," said Dumbledore. "And I'm not reprimanding you on standing up to protect your friend. Quite the opposite, I'm commending you by not deducting the hundred points from Slytherin that I could. I'm only asking that you make a greater effort to..." he paused for a good long few seconds, "work within the bounds of what is expected at Hogwarts."

"Yes sir," Harry nodded. "I really didn't mean to cause such a ruckus on my first full day here."

"It's been known to happen," Dumbledore smiled. "Every once in a while a group of students comes along who are destined to give teachers like myself and Professor McGonagall grey hairs. Just try not to make too much of a habit of it."

"Professor, I don't know what I did to make him angry," said Harry when Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "But Draco Malfoy seems intent on attacking me and my friends. Is there any way I could ask you to get him to lighten up on everyone?"

"I doubt he'd listen too closely to anything anyone told him," said Dumbledore. "Draco is someone who needs to find out for himself that his ideas and methods don't work. All you or I or anyone else can do is give him time and hope he doesn't do anything too malicious in the process of finding himself... and we can defend ourselves as necessary, of course... which is why I'm not going to fault you for what you did to him in the air today."

Harry froze as Dumbledore smiled knowingly. The old wizard patted his hands on his desk and sighed. "To be honest, if the both of you hadn't flown right passed the room where I was speaking with Severus," said Dumbledore, "I might have missed it. Harry, if you'd please, could you elaborate on exactly which spell you used to knock Draco from his broom and where you learned such a potent evocation?"

Harry's eyes went a bit wider and he wracked his racing brain for an answer... a task only complicated by the throbbing still lingering in his temples. "I don't know what you're talking about," said Harry, mouth going dry. "All I did was punch him as hard as I could and-"

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow and the little smile on his lips cut Harry short. "Is that so?" asked the wizard, his eyes blatantly stating the fact that he knew Harry was lying.

Harry, mouth still half open in the truncated lie, held his breath for a moment before sighing and settling into the chair. "No," he said. "It isn't."

"Is there something you'd like to tell me?" Dumbledore asked in a voice in which Harry could sense only sincere concern. "I think you'll find that there's nothing you could say that would surprise me, especially given my passed friendship with your mother."

"My mother?" Harry asked, heart jumping into his throat. "You knew her?"

Dumbledore nodded and looked at a large boxy shape wrapped in paper set on the corner of his desk before turning back to harry. "I knew her quite well which is one reason I know that, as you so subtly demonstrated today, you've inherited some of her gifts for natural magic and sorcery."

Harry felt his stomach turn and his skin go completely cold. The headmaster put his hands up and gestured for Harry to relax. "Great," Harry whispered, studying the lines of the Phoenix's form on the desk. "My first day at school and I've already given it away."

"Only to me," said Dumbledore.

"How's that?" asked Harry. "You figured it out quick as a thought so- wait," he stammered. "I inherited my mother's gifts? You mean she was... like me?"

"Yes, she was," said the old man. "more than you know."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, leaning forward and forgetting completely about his secret getting out. "Tell me about her, please."

"All in good time," said Dumbledore. "All in good time. But yes, your mother had the same natural affinity to magic you demonstrated earlier. And like yourself, she went to great lengths to conceal her talent because of the stigma she expected sorcery to bring with it. To the best of my knowledge, not even your father knew your mother was a sorceress, which is likely for the best. I only spotted her talent because I knew what to look for.

"And speaking of your parents," muttered Dumbledore, reaching to the package on the corner of his desk and handing it out to Harry. "This is something I think your father would want you to have." Dumbledore waited as Harry looked down at the parcel and tore away the paper. "I spent years looking for his final spellbook without success, but I think the one he wanted you to have when you went to school should work just as well."

Harry stripped away the stiff paper and set it on the ground beside his chair, holding in his hands a massive book which glittered a subdued gold in the late morning sunlight. The spine, a structure two inches across and more than a foot long felt like metal as Harry rested it on his thigh, despite looking like nothing so much as stiff snakeskin. The covers, weighty panels of the same material as the spine, were locked together by a latch the size of Harry's fist and possessed a rough and scaly texture.

"This is beautiful," said Harry, admiring the book. "It's mine?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Your father wanted you to have that. There are four hundred pages alchemically treated to be waterproof and highly fire-resistant, and the covers are made from thin slices of dragon bone wrapped in dragon scales to protect the book from almost anything. You should find that more than satisfactory for your time at Hogwarts, and given that your Spellcraft classes begin tomorrow it should come in handy."

"Thank you," said Harry. "I'm not sure what to say."

"One more thing," said Dumbledore. "During your mother's time here as a student, she worked as my aide, running messages, doing errands and making my life easier in general. If you'd like to take over that position then you're welcome to it and in addition I'll provide you with some instruction on controlling your talents when you're not running errands."

Harry nodded, still holding the book and lighting up with excitement. "That would be great," he said. "When can we start? What will I be doing?"

"Well not so fast," the old wizard tapped his finger on the desk. "There's still the matter of that stunt you pulled in your flying lesson today and before we can discuss the nature of your instruction there's still discussion to be had on a fitting disciplinary measure."

SC

"Detention for a month on your first day of school?" said Tracey. "If that isn't the most rotten luck..."

Sitting at the table, surrounded by Tracey, Ron, and Neville, Harry flopped his forehead down on the wooden surface. "It could be worse," he muttered into the table, barely louder than the hum of the room full of hungry students. "I guess I should be thankful he didn't expel me."

"True," Tracey shrugged.

"But you're going to be the headmaster's aide when you've served your time," said Ron through a mouthful of turkey. "I'd say that more than makes up for getting detention since you'll get to sit in on some of his higher level classes later in the year. You'll be listening to lectures with sixth or even seventh years."

"And understanding none of it," Harry laughed. He turned to Neville. "How's the wrist?" he asked, changing subjects. "It's looking much better."

Neville held his hand up in front of his face and flexed his fingers, ignoring the day's issue of _The Daily Prophet,_ that lay open in front of him. "Well it's still sore, but it's not broken," he said. "Really I just wish that magic could heal my pride... losing control of the broom like that made me look like a complete idiot."

Harry finished off his goblet and pushed away his plate. "No it didn't," he said. "That could have happened to anyone."

"Easy for you to say," Longbottom muttered. "But thanks for getting my Remembrall back, and for showing Malfoy who's boss."

"Oh boy," Harry dropped his face into his hands. "I don't even want to think about what he's going to do to me."

Glancing at the newspaper in front of Neville as the other students began hypothesizing on exactly how Draco would try to get back at Harry, the young Potter reached for the publication and picked it up. In the center of the front page, a large moving picture of several goblins dithering about caught Harry's attention.

_Vault 731..._ he read a little farther on, remembering that 731 was the vault Hagrid had visited only a few weeks before when he'd taken Harry to Gringotts. _Broken into, nothing taken, security baffled..._ the lines stuck out to him. _I wonder if Hagrid took whatever the thief was after, _ he mused, absentmindedly wondering what it was Hagrid had removed from the vault and where it had been taken.

Much to Harry's delight, Draco spent the rest of the night in the infirmary by his own request, and Harry had the room to himself. Spending that time working on some rudimentary magical exercises of his own design, Harry stayed up late entertaining Hedwig and conversing with Bacid. Over the course of the night, Harry learned that the serpent had begun his life in the United States in Georgia and accidentally hitched a ride on the personal boat of a gentleman on his way to London. From there it didn't take too many days of aimless slithering before Bacid had found Harry.

After that first eventful day of class, Harry began to lose track of time. He developed a concrete routine of getting up in the morning before Draco and heading off to an early breakfast with Neville, Ron, and Tracey. During his classes he'd faithfully copy down every word uttered by a lecturing teacher and add his own comments or thoughts in the notebook's margin. After classes he'd spend a completely unremarkable time sitting in detention, watched over by whichever bored Professor had the misfortune of possessing enough free time to run the one-student prison.

Harry, deciding that anything would be better than doing nothing, used his confinement to study for his Arcana and Spellcraft classes. While sorcerous magic came as naturally to Harry as breathing, the wizardly kind, the science of studying a system of literately thousands of runes, most of which held no verbal meaning and could be combined in any order with no set syntax, wracked his brains to the breaking point. None of the students in Harry's class had yet written a spell into their spellbook, but each of them had been given a long, long... long list of Arcana's runes to memorize, as well as a sheet of exercises to test each student's ability to scribe said symbols.

On the third Monday of his detention, the final week of the confinement, Harry sat in the office of Minerva McGonagall, who had been tasked with overseeing the boy. Harry guessed that the teacher had never quite forgiven him for his and Draco's disobedience during the flying class, but that mattered little to Harry as he stared down intently at the list of runes in front of him and read his notes from the class over and over again. He just didn't understand it... there were just too many symbols and combinations thereof to make sense. He felt he was missing something, some little fact that might make the whole thing click, but what it might be eluded him.

McGonagall looked over the top of her book and down her aquiline nose at Harry as the boy flopped his head down on his open notebook. She sighed and closed her book with a clap. Setting it down and crossing the room, she took a chair from the empty desk across from Harry and pulled it up next to the boy. Sitting down and looking over his notes as Harry sat up and wiped his eyes, the teacher's face grew blank.

"These are very extensive notes," said McGonagall, looking at Harry's tiny scrawls and squinting through her glasses to read them. "Are you having trouble?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "I don't understand it," he said.

"Don't don't understand what?"

"Any of this," Harry gestured to the list of runes and his notes. "Potions I understand, flying I get, those are simple. A plus B equals C, action means reaction, but Spellcraft doesn't make any sense. There's just so much of it and..." he stopped as McGonagall picked up his notebook and flipped back to the first few pages. Harry remained quiet as she read silently.

"Ah," said the Professor. She pursed her lips and set Harry's book on the desk. "I think I see now. And don't worry Mr. Potter. You're not the only one struggling with this. Arcana is like a language all by itself and Spellcraft can be extremely complicated even if you know how to work with it."

"Then how am I supposed to understand it?" asked Harry. He sat back in the chair and crossed his arms, huffing out an exasperated sigh and looking down at the brown marble floor.

"Well obviously you're not," said the teacher. "Or at least not yet. I can think of perhaps one or two first year student who genuinely understands the concepts your struggling with. To the best of my understanding, there's only one who can put it into any kind of practice yet and that's because she's spent months studying ahead." McGonagall smiled. "So don't feel bad about struggling with a very difficult concept."

Harry sighed and looked down at the extensive list of runes he was supposed to have memorized in a week. The three hundred symbols seemed to laugh up at him from the page, taunting that they represented less than a fifth of the entire alphabet of Arcana. "She?" probed Harry.

"She," McGonagall drew out the word, "wants nothing more than to be left to her books and not bothered. So if you're thinking about asking around as to who might be able to help you study ahead, then you've got your search cut out for you." She got up and walked back to her desk.

Crossing his arms in front of his chest and thinking for a moment, Harry stared passively down at the sheet of runes. _If only..._ he thought. _If only I had something practical to do with them... then maybe they'd make sense._ He remembered back to the train ride to Hogwarts when Hermione Granger had used a simple cantrip to repair Harry's glasses and-

_That's it,_ he thought.

SC

"Absolutely not," Hermione scoffed, holding her books in front of her and walking with loud steps up the stairs towards Gryffindor's common room.

"Please Hermione," said Harry, following behind her and skipping steps to keep up. "It's not like I'm asking you to marry me. I'm just looking for help with my homework."

The clacking of her shoes coming to an abrupt halt, Hermione turned around to face Harry on the wide stairway. "No," she said, "you're looking for me to do your homework for you, as if I didn't already have enough for myself."

"That's not what I'm asking at all," Harry countered. "I'm asking for you to teach me what you know. You're the smartest person in any class I have so... please? It doesn't even have to be related to the homework."

Hermione tapped her foot once on the stair. "Then why would you even want me to teach it to you?" she asked, her tone still implying that Harry had somehow offended her.

Catching his breath from running to close the distance between himself and the girl, Harry leaned against the rail. "I've been studying in detention as hard as I could, literately for hours at a time, and I still don't understand any of it," he said. "Spellcraft and Arcana make absolutely no sense to me. To you though it must be second nature already. I remember on the train you studied a spell for only a minute and then used magic to repair my glasses so... I was hoping that you could teach me a little practical application so it might click for me too."

Hermione grunted. "I didn't cower any of the times Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle tried to bully me into doing theirs, and I'm not going to let you sweet talk me into doing yours."

"But I'm not try-" a sudden jerking in the stairs beneath them made both Harry and Hermione stumble. They managed to catch each other however, at the expense of Hermione's books tumbling to the floor, as the entire staircase broke loose from its foundation and pivoted ninety degrees. Connecting to another hallway and coming to a halt with a quiet boom and the grinding of stone on stone, the staircase stopped. Harry, wide-eyed with shock, went for his wand and took a quick breath through his nose.

"What was that?" he asked, pointing his wand at empty air. "What happened?"

"Bollocks," muttered Hermione, gathering up her books and sitting down on a step two thirds of the way up the stairs. She looked at Harry, still pointing his wand at nothing. "Oh give it a rest will you," she said. "You don't have to pretend you didn't plan this."

"The stairway just rearranged itself." Harry said, casting about the hollow of the brown stone tower as though watching for a predator. "I'm not taking any chances."

Hermione smiled a little to herself and rubbed her eyes. "The stairs tend to move like that," she said. "Its just what they do, to entertain themselves I guess."

Confusion played across Harry's face as he slowly put away his wand. "Why in the world would someone enchant stairways to move on their own?" he asked.

"Maybe they wanted fewer stairs to access more passages," she shrugged. "Or maybe someone thought it would be funny to strand Gryffindor students in strange hallways. I don't know."

"Great," said Harry, sitting on the stair beneath Hermione. "How long until they move back?"

"Could be ten minutes," said the girl. "Or it could be an hour."

"An hour! Curfew is in forty-five minutes," Harry exclaimed. "What kind of idiot designed this place?" He put his hands over his face. "Stairways that rearrange themselves, dormitories built under lakes, doors to nowhere..."

"You don't know the half of it..." Hermione said, almost giggling.

"Then I don't want to," said Harry, looking up at the great inner chamber of the tower. Looking from door to door and stair to stair as the vertical passage lead upwards, Harry noted that there were indeed other stair moving around as if on invisible ropes and rollers. Bitterly he wondered why anyone would bother with such an inefficient and inconvenient mess. "Great."

Hermione looked down at the back of Harry's head, then back up at towards the landing at the top of the stair. "Come on," she said, getting to her feet and walking up the steps.

"Where to?" asked Harry, though he did get up and walk behind her.

"These landings move with the stairs," she said, "so it will make a decent place to study until we can leave. I might as well review while I'm stuck with you and you might as well learn something from it."

Ignoring the insult, Harry's eyes lit up and he quickly skipped to the top of the stairs. Helping Hermione get settled around the books she placed on the ground, the young Potter set his bag behind him and sat cross legged with his notebook in his lap and his notes from class around him.

"Alright," said Hermione, pulling out her own notes. With a sidelong glance at Harry's papers, her eyes widened and she quickly glanced between her notes and his several times before clearing her throat. "Alright," she repeated. "We should probably start at the beginning and work our way up to the basics before moving on to any kind of applied theory."

"Works for me," said Harry. "And thanks very much for helping me."

"Don't mention it," said Hermione, "to anyone. The last thing I want is to become some kind of tutor for hire... At any rate, what do you about the Weave?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "According to McGonagall, it's a lattice of omnipresent energy that connects everything in the universe," he said without bothering to look at his notes.

"Rudimentary, but correct," said Hermione sounding more like a lecturing teacher than most of the lecturing teachers Harry had met. "The Weave is a lattice of energy, yes, that connects every particle of matter in the universe to every other particle. Muggle scientists call it Dark Energy. Magic, as we define it, is the manipulation of the Weave through the expenditure of mental energy and the energy from other sources."

Harry began reading through his notes, ensuring that what Hermione was saying matched up with what he had written down. Grabbing a pen from his pack he began jotting notes in the already crowded margins.

"Wizardry," Hermione went on, beginning to glance through her papers, "is the practice through magic of spells. Spells are defined as magical formulas and come in two basic types," she paused as Harry jumped a few pages and began writing on fresh paper before she went on. "Ritual spells are a manipulation of the Weave without the use of spell components, by the slow accumulation of ambient energy from the natural world. When gathered by a wizard's directed will and combined with a small amount of mental energy, Ritual spells tend to produce extremely grand effects. The downside is that they take a long time to cast and are immediately cast upon their completion. Often, they're dangerous and it's very easy to lose control of them with even the smallest mental misstep.

"Woven spells," the girl went on, "are the kind of spells that most people think about when they think of wands and spellbooks and the like. They're essentially Ritual spells shortened to much more manageable sizes. Woven spells can be 'prepared' or partially cast at one time and discharged later upon the expenditure of mental energy to begin a chain reaction that consumes the energy stored in some material component, the latter energy being what fuels the magic which is then directed by the wizard's will. Woven spells are stored in a wizard's Dweomer indefinitely after they're prepared."

"Slow down a little," Harry said, his pen scribbling. "We haven't covered any of this in class yet." Harry omitted mentioning that he only understood about a third of the terms Hermione was throwing at him, deciding that he could look up said words later. "And could you use smaller sentences please?"

"Dweomers are to wizards and witches what gravity is to mass," said Hermione. "Any sapient mind creates distortions in the Weave in the same way that muggle scientists say mass warps space-time to form gravity, and that warp in the Weave is very good at storing very specific patterns of energy. During a Ritual for example, it's a wizard's Dweomer that reaches out to collect the energy for the magic, and stores that energy. During Woven magic, it's a wizard's Dweomer that stores the partially cast spells and serves as a crucible where natural energy, mental energy, and component energy all mix to be directed by the will of the witch.

"Actually on an interesting side note," said Hermione, "a wizard's Dweomer has a limit to the amount of energy it can store, but will expand as the wizard ages and gains experience. Additionally it will expand and strengthen as the witch or wizard prepares spells and forces it to do work."

"Like a muscle," Harry noted.

"You could think of it that way," said the girl. "Even more interesting, and you won't actually learn this in class until fifth year," she grinned, "is that the Dweomers of wizards and witches linked by either proximity or magic can actually mingle and combine to create one Dweomer with a total capacity greater than the sum of its parts. Weird, huh?"

Harry laughed. "If you say so," he said. "Dark Energy, mass, gravity, sapient minds, muscles made out of energy, this is all weird to me..."

"But do you think you're getting it?" asked Hermione.

"The basic ideas, sure. Just don't ask me to write a paper on it."

"Good, that's what matters for now. To get more to what you want to know," she said, "The casting of Ritual spells and the preparation of Woven spells requires a wizard's will be carefully directed in exactly how to manipulate his Dweomer and the energy it stores. This is where spell formulas and spellbooks come into play, which are actually compilations of the precise instructions on how to direct your will. These formulas have to be written in an extremely precise and exact way if they're to have any use at all, so to that end we use an ancient system of runes called Arcana.

"Arcana as a subject is a study of the runic language of magic. It's alphabet consists of more than fifteen hundred symbols, most of which have no verbal meaning and relate only to a wizard's will. The symbols have, as far as anyone knows, no rules of grammar or syntax. They're simply mental actions to take, and can thus be combined into an almost infinite combination of patterns."

Harry scribbled down the information and nodded. "Alright, that's something we haven't learned in class. All I had in my notes was that Arcana was the list of symbols used to write spells."

Clearing her throat, Hermione tapped the book in her lap. "I don't know why they teach it out of order," she said. "Mind if I go on?"

"Please," said Harry. "This is going to be the highlight of my week, I can tell."

Hermione smiled and looked back down at her notes, most of which she'd written down before school had even started. "Spellcraft is the study of those combinations of patterns in Arcana. It's the art of combining them into useful formulas or interpreting another witch's formulas. You've got to remember, while Arcana is a concrete set of runes, Spellcraft is as varied as any individual wizard. Since Arcana's symbols are simply mental actions, they'll mean different things to different people. While two wizards might prepare the exact same spell, they'll both likely take different mental actions to do it and thus their personal formulas will be different."

Harry's mouth dropped open a little. "Then how does anyone ever develop new spells at all?" he asked. "If no one can read another wizard's formula?"

"Because," Hermione explained, "people are similar. If you take two random people from anywhere in the world, odds are that they'll both think in at least remotely similar ways. Likewise, wizards preparing spells will normally think in similar ways, and as Arcana's symbols are concretely tied to specific mental actions, given a thorough knowledge of Arcana and a good intuition, one wizard shouldn't have too much trouble deciphering the formulas of another."

"That sounds really difficult," Harry muttered.

"It is. Arcana is a science and Spellcraft is the art of applying it. Nobody ever said being a wizard was easy," said Hermione, "which is one reason not every muggle in the world practices it. That's pretty much the summary of what I've got," she said. "I hope it helped."

Harry nodded and looked up at the ceiling high overhead. Admiring the vaulted stone for a second he turned back to Hermione. "I think it did," he said. "Now I've got a little context." He went quiet for a minute and leaned back against the wall. "Hermione," he said, getting the girl's attention. "If magic is really just directing a Dweomer and controlling energy, then why do some wizards think pure-bloods are better at it than anyone else?"

Hermione sighed and pulled her knees up to her chest. "Because there is some truth to magic being 'in the blood' as it were," she said.

"How so?" asked Harry.

"Remember how you said Dweomers are like muscles?" she waited until he nodded. "Well in a lot of cases those muscles get passed down to children. If a witch and a wizard both have strong Dweomers and have a child together, their offspring is very likely to start out with a stronger Dweomer than the offspring of someone with one or no magical parents. So naturally, muggle-borns are..." she paused and looked down at the brown stone steps, "looked down upon. Because they have less talent they have to work a lot harder, and even then most muggle-borns will never be as powerful as most half-bloods, let alone the meanest, least skilled pure-blood."

"That's stupid," said Harry. "Just because someone doesn't have the natural gifts somebody else was born with doesn't make them any less of a person."

"Easy for someone like you to say," said Hermione. "Both your parents were magical. You have advantages many other students could only dream of possessing."

Harry started to say something, but stopped as the stairway jerked and pulled away from the wall. Gasping as his backing vanished, Harry began to topple backwards, until Hermione lashed out and caught him by the collar. Grabbing hold of her as she caught him, Harry regained his balance as the pair scuttled away from the ledge.

"Thanks," he said, heart racing as he took big breaths. "That's two I owe you."

Hermione, breathing as hard as Harry, waved it off. "Don't mention it," she said.

"No seriously," Harry muttered, looking over the edge as the stairway glided across the chamber. He silently wondered how anyone could justify having a school in such a dangerous building. _This whole place is a giant deathtrap,_ he thought as he stared down at the floor more than eighty feet below. "You just saved my life and more importantly my grades."

The joke brought a smile to Hermione's lips as the stairway landed in its original position. "Well, it's what I do. But don't dare go spreading it around."

"I won't," Harry grinned as he gathered up his books. "Thanks again. If you ever need anything I'd be happy to help." He trotted down the steps, remaining turned around to face her and wave goodbye. Just as Hermione raised her hand to wave back, Harry's right toe struck the back of his left foot, costing the boy all his balance, and he tumbled end over appetite down the stairs until he crashed on the landing nearly twenty feet down.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled.

Harry, having caught himself on the rail enough to avoid any injury, leapt up and waved back to Hermione. "I'm alright, I'm fine!" he called back to her. "It was deliberate!" He gathered up his things and disappeared down the hall, leaving Hermione completely baffled.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five – The Beckoning Of Cerberus

The next day marked the fourth time in the term that Slytherin and Gryffindor were to hold a joint flying class. As in most classes, some students excelled and others remained hesitant to even lift off the grass. Neville and Hermione both seemed quite content to simply hover a few inches above the ground to meet McGonagall's requirements, while Harry and Draco, the two heads of the class, had to work within special restrictions McGonagall had set specifically for them. The two boys were, quite sternly and regularly, reminded that if they so much as thought of flying farther than fifty feet up or any faster than twenty miles per hour that they'd both be expelled without any further notice.

Halfway through the class, McGonagall paired up the students and gave each group a leather ball stuffed with foam. The subsequent exercise consisted of the students flying in controlled circles and passing the ball back and forth to one another without losing control. While Harry worked with Neville, Ron passed the ball with Draco, and Hermione practiced tossing the ball back and forth to Tracey. It all went as well as McGonagall expected and no one sustained any injuries in the first ten minutes of the exercise, so she instructed them to try going a little faster.

"Watch it!" Draco barked at Ron when the redheaded boy threw the ball a little too far and Draco had to dive to catch it. "Do that again and I'll knock you off your broom."

Watching from below, as Neville refused to fly more than a foot off the ground, Harry waited until McGonagall's back was turned, then caught Neville's toss and threw the ball high into the air. "Whoa!" he shouted, racing up after the leather ball. Shooting by Draco, and bumping him hard enough to make Malfoy miss Ron's next pass, Harry caught the sphere and turned to Draco with a grin. "Sorry," said Harry. "I guess I missed."

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall yelled, "quit showing off!"

Harry turned to the teacher and apologized, then looked at Draco. "Ease up on Ron a bit," he said. "Wouldn't it be horrid if you got knocked off your broom?"

The rest of that day passed by without incident, and at sunset a tired Harry and his group of friends all sat at their usual place in the great hall for dinner. Ron kept muttering that he could have taken Draco, while Neville and Tracey both avoided talking about the flying lesson as neither had heard what Harry had said to Draco.

"It's fine," Harry said to Ron. "I know you could have taken him, but I didn't want you to have all the fun. Besides, if being his roommate has taught me anything, Draco is too cowardly to do anything himself."

"Meaning he'll get his whole gang together to beat you to pieces," said Tracey.

"I suppose he might," Harry answered.

"Well I think he just did," she came back, pointing behind Harry.

Harry and Neville both turned to follow the gesture as Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson all approached the table in a group. Harry glanced around at his friends, who were all looking between him and the oncoming gang of Slytherins. Harry and Neville, both on the side Draco had approached, got to their feet as Tracey and Ron watched carefully from the rear.

"Draco," said Harry with a big grin. "Come to join us? I'm a little surprised you finally accepted the invi-"

"Stuff it, Potter," Draco spat. "If you think I'm going to let you get away with humiliating me like that then you've got another thing coming." The boy turned to Neville with a sneer, startling Longbottom.

Harry took a step in front of Neville and stood in Draco's face. "See that's funny," he said. "Because I never pictured you as having enough of a backbone to do anything about me humiliating you in front of both classes."

Draco's lip curled into a snarl but it was Goyle who spoke. "Can I just bash him into the ground?" asked the big child, cracking his knuckles. "Please?"

Harry smirked. He almost wanted the brute to try. It would be a perfect chance to blast him with magic and make it look like a lucky punch.

"Not yet," said Draco to Goyle, before turning back to Harry. "I've got a better idea... a duel, tonight at midnight in the trophy room."

"Done," said Harry. "I'll see you there."

"Wonderful," Draco answered. "Nothing more to be said on it then."

Harry and Neville both remained standing until Draco and his coven had gone, then turned around and sat back down.

"A duel?" asked Ron. "But we haven't even learned how to write spells in our books yet," he said. "What'll it be then? Fisticuffs?"

Harry shook his head. "Probably," he said.

"But they'll have you outnumbered," Neville interjected. "You know Draco won't go alone."

"I know," said Harry. "Don't worry about it. If I go alone and Draco goes with his gang, then his group is more likely to get caught for being up passed curfew than I will be. Draco's an idiot if he thinks his whole gang can avoid the prefects. And on the off chance he does come alone then I've got him."

"I don't like it," said Tracey. "I'm going with you."

"No you're not," Harry answered. "Nobody at this table is going to get in trouble for this. Besides, I'll be in my room until midnight, so if Draco does come back then I'll know he wasn't serious about a duel."

Everyone thought for a second as Harry smugly crossed his arms.

"I hadn't thought of you two being roommates," said Neville. "That Draco's a real idiot."

SC

"I wish you wouldn't insist on this," Harry sighed, sitting on his bed and looking across the room at Tracey.

"And I wish you wouldn't insist on this duel," said the girl. "But you are, so I'm at least going to help you out a little. Now go over the plan again."

Harry shook his head. "I'll go to the duel while you wait here. If Draco comes in before you figure that I'm halfway to the trophy room you'll tell him you were looking for me, slip out, and then come warn me."

"Good," said Tracey, sitting down at Harry's desk. "Now if I can't convince you to give up on this, then you'd better go. It's ten till."

Harry nodded and got up, telling Tracey to stay out of sight, then quietly exiting the room. Sighing and drawing on a bit of his magical reserves, Harry wrapped himself in a thin veil of shadows that seemed to blur his form and make him blend into the background. It wasn't true invisibility, but the charm would make him more difficult to detect even in decent lighting, and in the inky dim of the halls he planned to navigate, the charm might as well have been invisibility. As Harry tiptoed through the common room, not willing to expend the magic necessary to levitate as maintaining his disguise already ate up the resources he was willing to spare, he snuck out into the sewers and disappeared down the channels.

Coming out in the mens bathroom on the first floor through a panel in the floor he'd discovered with Ron, Harry closed the grate behind him and walked out into the halls of the school. Avoiding the ones he knew would be lit with the magical daylight, Harry navigated the passages, meeting no resistance. Upon arriving at the trophy room Harry stopped at the vaulted arch leading to the chamber, dropped his sable veil and turned the corner.

Scanning the room, Harry spotted about for Draco, though he expected little to come of doing so in the room filled with back to back glass cases of mirror-like trophies. "Malfoy," he called in a loud whisper, half expecting Draco and his cronies to emerge from the rows of cabinets like ghosts. "You here?"

"Harry, is that you?" a surprisingly feminine whisper answered as two figures emerged from around a corner.

"Ron? Hermione?" Harry said, walking up to the pair. "What in the world are both of you doing here?" _Especially Hermione,_ he wanted to say.

"I wasn't about to let you come alone. If Draco and his thugs did show up then you'd be clobbered," said Ron. "And this here," he gestured to Hermione, "followed me all the way here. Do you think I can keep her?"

"Oh shut up," Hermione punched Ron's arm.

"You shut up," Ron answered. "Bossy know-it-all, why are you even here?"

Hermione glanced at Harry before turning back to Ron. "Because if you get caught then Gryffindor will lose points," she said. "I'm going to make sure we don't get caught."

"Well I appreciate the offer," said Harry, "but really I'd-"

All three students turned as footsteps echoed through the door and into the room. "Whose in there!" a gruff and gravelly voice shouted as a light began nearing the door and filtering into the trophy room.

Hermione grabbed Harry and Ron by the sleeves, tugging them towards a side hall without a moment's waste. "This way," she hissed as the trio bolted for the exit.

"Whose there!" barked Filch, a hunched man with thinning black hair and wildly bloodshot eyes. He walked into the trophy room and caught the end of a black cloak disappearing out the other exit. "Aha!" he shouted, running towards the other door. "I knew Malfoy's tip would be spot on! Get back here you little hellions!"

"Now you've both done it!" Hermione grunted as she, Ron, and Harry ducked down a side passage and sprinted for the stairs at the end. Hearing Filch's footfalls gaining on them as they broke into the massive chamber of moving stairs in Gryffindor Tower, Hermione led the group up one flight of stairs, praying in vain that it would move as they left. Turning and running up a second flight as Filch reached the bottom of the first, the trio ducked down a randomly chosen hall and ran to the end.

Reaching the lone door at the end and trying the handle, Hermione stopped short. "Bollocks," she hissed, pulling up and down on the latch. "Locked."

"We've got to go back," said Harry.

"No time," said Hermione. She reached into her robe and pulled out her pale wand with one hand and small bit of brass wire crudely shaped in the form of a key with her other. Pointing at the door's latch and uttering a word, Hermione held out the wand and her little impersonation of a key, and locked her eyes on the door. As her pupils dilated to an unnatural size the tip of her wand glowed and the image of a key burned up in a puff of green smoke. The instant the latch clicked, Hermione reached out and threw it open, leading Ron and Harry inside.

Harry and Hermione both turned around and pulled the door shut behind them, leaning on it with a sigh. From a light source behind them somewhere, Harry could see that Hermione's left palm had been badly singed by the burning key, and he asked if she was alright.

"Alright?" she turned on him like an angered cat. "Am I alright? Of course. Never mind that I just burned my hand to get us away from a teacher with every right to punish us for breaking the rules," her whisper rang in Harry's ears. "I'm just fine and freaking dandy. How are you?"

"Guys," Ron's voice quaked before Harry could answer.

"I'm asking because I'm concerned," Harry retorted. "I was worried."

"Guys," Ron repeated, his voice breaking.

"Don't be," Hermione spat.

"What's your problem?" Harry growled, still barely maintaining a whisper. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't hurt."

Hermione stepped closer and got in his face. "I don't need a Slytherin pure-blood's pity and I don't want it," she hissed. "So don't try to patronize me or talk down to me or whatever it is your trying to do."

"Because I'd never really try to be your friend," Harry scowled.

"No, your type wouldn't. Pure-bloods never care about anyone but themselves."

Ron gulped. "Guys," he said again.

"What?" Harry and Hermione both turned on Ron with varying degrees of chagrin.

"What floor are we on?" he asked.

Hermione closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose while Harry turned and glared daggers at the door. "The third," answered the girl. "Why?"

"Well," Ron gulped again. "Remember what Professor Dumbledore said about dying a painful death..." His face a mask horror, Ron pointed as both Harry and Hermione turned to follow his gaze. "See what he meant?"

Freezing in place, Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked down the room towards the massive shape at the far end. Even hunkered down as it was, the massive canine measured eight feet tall at the shoulder, less than the distance between the children and the monster's three sleeping heads. Hermione put her hand over her mouth to hold in a gasp as one of the beast's heads, a shape nearly as big as any of the students, with its eyes screwed shut and muzzle crinkled in a snarl, snapped its jaws. Another head shifted on a bony neck, revealing the dimly luminescent green orb set in the corner of the room beside a pair of huge silver bowls.

As Ron pressed himself against the door as if to sink into it and disappear, Harry took a silent step in front of the two Gryffindor students. Already he had gathered up all the magic he could safely contain and prepared to unleash it on the beast if the necessity arrived. Not taking his eyes off the Cerberus's snoring heads, he turned to Hermione.

"Filch or no," he whispered as the black behemoth began to stir, "you need to get that door open, right now." Hermione nodded and turned back to the heavy iron latch, shooing Ron out of her way. She studied it for a moment as Harry devoted his full attention to the dozing beast.

"Oh, thank god," Hermione sighed and fiddled with the latch. "It can open from this side." As carefully as she could, Hermione silently lifted the latch and opened the door for the trio to slink out.

As soon as the door shut behind them Harry withered against the wall and breathed a sigh of relief. "This place is insane," he muttered.

Ron sat with his back against the wall opposite Harry while Hermione slumped against the door and took several steadying breaths. The hall went absolutely quiet for more than a minute, prompting Harry to look up and guess that they had avoided Filch.

"Did either of you see that?" asked Ron, his voice gaining some strength.

"Yes Ron," Hermione toned. "We all saw the giant dog. In fact, I think we all noticed that it had three heads too, one for each of us actually. Better to kill us all at once."

"Not that," Ron rolled his eyes at her.

"What else was there to see?" asked Harry.

"The trapdoor," said Ron. "That big ugly thing had its paw on a trapdoor in the floor, like it was guarding it."

"And if you'd like" said Hermione, "maybe I could go back in and ask it what's on the other side... let's just get out of here."

SC

"What in the world is a Cerberus doing in Hogwarts?" asked Tracey, sitting opposite the breakfast table from Harry. "I thought those were extinct."

"Well they're not," said Ron, glancing sideways at the girl. "Trust me, they're not."

Neville finished his spot of cereal and turned to Harry. "So I take it Draco didn't show?" he asked.

"No," Harry answered. "Tracey, care to fill them in?"

"As soon as Harry got back, I went back to my room," said the girl, "where Draco and Pansy were, um, hiding. He'd set everyone up to get caught by Filch and take a massive loss in House Points." She shrugged. "Honestly, I think he and Pansy don't care what happens to Slytherin as long as Harry gets the short end of the stick. On the bright side at least, nobody lost anything."

Ron laughed. "Limbs included," he said, holding up his hands and wiggling his fingers.

"I wonder what it was guarding," Neville mused.

"Who cares," said Tracey. "If a Cerberus is sitting on top of something, then that something isn't a something that anyone is meant to mess with. Best not to worry about it."

All four students paused and looked up as a great hooting and cawing filled the air. As happened most mornings at Hogwarts, a swirling flock of owls and ravens, each laden with envelopes and packages of all different sizes, flew in through the great hall's eastern windows. The birds swooped down in steep dives towards the student body and pulled up at the last second to drop the packages either on the tables, or in front of the student for whom said package was intended. Harry reached up at the last second to, for the first time this year, have a parcel dropped off in his hands. Neville ducked away as Harry caught the elongated package.

"What is it?" asked Ron, leaning over the table.

"No idea," Harry muttered, grabbing the end of the package and tearing away the paper.

Harry and the other three students all gasped as the sorcerer unwrapped the flawlessly polished handle of the broomstick. The lacquered wood caught the morning sunlight just as Harry tore the packing paper away from the tightly bound head of obsidian black bristles. Carved on a small bit of bronze bolted to the side of the broom the words 'Nimbus 2000' shone in raised gold letters.

"Wow," Neville, Ron, and Harry all whispered. The three boys spent a moment ogling the broom.

"Who's it from?" asked Tracey, snapping Harry back to reality. "Or should I leave the four of you alone," she teased.

Harry quickly turned the broom over in his hand, finding a tag tied with red string to the cluster of metallic bristles. Opening the folded card, Harry quickly scanned the script. "Snape..." he muttered.

Immediately Neville and Ron backed away, putting up their hands. "What'd he do to it?" asked the Weasley.

"All it says is," Harry read, "that practice will be on the Quidditch field at five."

Tracey reached over the table and patted Harry's arm. "Congratulations Harry," she said with a big smile. "Professor Snape must want you on the Quidditch team. That's wonderful news."

"Great," Ron muttered. "There goes Gryffindor's season."

Harry looked between his friends for a moment and then back at the broom. "What's Quidditch?" he asked.

Harry didn't have potions class that day, and still had to serve out his last few hours of detention, so he couldn't find time to look for Snape and ask about the broom. That evening, per the instructions on the broomstick, he made his way to the Quidditch field with his Nimbus 2000. Finding a dozen other people there, including Draco Malfoy and Tracey's older brother Travis, Harry cautiously made his way over to the students.

"Ah, look who decided to join us," said Travis, stepping away from the other students when he saw Harry. "Glad you could make it," he said, bringing the new arrival over to the group and standing him next to Draco who, Harry noticed was the only other first year in the field. "For any of you who don't know me," Travis went on, "my name is Travis Davis and I'm your team captain. Congratulations on making the cut. Especially you two," he pointed to Harry and Draco. "Professor Snape recommended both of you for the team back on day one of classes after he saw your antics in Professor McGonagall's flying lessons. I for one wasn't sure and I wanted to watch both of you for awhile before bringing you aboard. Now that I've seen what you two can do under controlled circumstances, I feel pretty good about turning you loose and seeing what you can do for real."

Travis went on for another few minutes, getting everyone introduced to everyone else on the team and going over the basic premise of the game of Quidditch, mostly for Harry's benefit. He showed them how to mount a broom, as the technique for faster flying was vastly different than the stance for simply cruising, and had everyone hover around for about fifteen minutes.

"Good, good," said the captain, watching Harry and Draco more closely than the other students. "I'm impressed."

Draco, sitting atop a Nimbus 2000 identical to Harry's, smirked. "I've been taking flying lessons for years."

"It shows," Travis answered, glancing about the wide open field at the other students. "But I think Potter might have you beat."

Every head turned as Harry, banking hard to the left, looped a huge circle around the entire group. The first year student hollered, wearing a huge grin as the broom carried him higher into the air at speeds he hadn't experienced since his first day of flying. Harry gripped the handle tighter, his mind barely able to grasp how the broom could slice so effortlessly through the air, without his having to fuel its core with his own magic.

_This must be what a bird feels like_, he thought, pausing and angling towards the ground. Diving for and snapping up at the last second, Harry leveled off and floated up next to Travis. "Those training brooms are nothing compared to this," he laughed, out of breath.

Travis grinned and slapped Harry on the back. "That broom's top of the line," he said, "a real feat of both magic and engineering. It could turn even the roughest squib into professional and you handle it like a pro already." He looked between Harry and Draco. "I think we're going to have a great season and I'll tell you how we're going to start it off." The older student reached into his robe and drew out a matte brown orb about the size of a tennis ball.

"This," Travis went on, "is an invention of Professor Snape's own design. We call it a dodger and it's sole purpose is not to be caught. The bloody thing will fly through the air faster than any regulation Snitch, and steer clear of anyone who comes within ten feet of it. Your jobs," he gestured with the hand holding the dodger at Draco and Harry, "is to catch it. Whichever one of you can snare the dodger will be this year's Seeker. Ready?"

Draco eagerly nodded and Harry, remembering from what Travis had said earlier that a Seeker was a prestigious position, leaned into his broom in preparation. He glanced at Draco, noting which way Draco's broom was facing, and which direction it looked like Travis might throw the little orb, and adjusted accordingly. _You've got this,_ Harry told himself, readying a little burst of magic to see what would happen if he charged a Nimbus's core.

"Go!" Travis threw the dodger and the orb screamed into the orange sky like a shot from a mortar.

Harry and Draco bolted after the dodger, both having spotted where it was headed. In a second the two were neck and neck gaining on the little ball and gaining altitude. Both boys reached out as they neared the dodger to grab at it, but the ball disappeared in a blur of speed as Draco closed just a little bit faster than Harry. Stopping in midair to look for the ball, Harry spotted around. Heart racing and adrenaline burning in his head, he couldn't feel the smile stretching from one end of his face to the other as his eyes flitted here and there. He saw Draco, coming to a stop lower down and glancing around for the ball.

_There!_ the dodger appeared in Harry's peripheral and he angled towards it before the thought could fully form in his head. Swooping down like a falcon, Harry noticed Draco tracing his trajectory and moving to intercept the dodger. Harry leaned in farther, pushing his broom to cut through the wind like a razor as he reached for the dodger. He closed to within just a few feet of the orb and stretched to grab for it, but again the ball seemed to blur out of existence and vanish.

This time however, with the sun at his back, Harry saw the dodger reappear twenty feet higher in the air and double back towards the west from which it had come. A thought crossed Harry's mind and he too doubled back west, angling up and leveling off with the dodger as Draco shot forward to grab for it again. Only watching, Harry slowed down and observed as Draco reached out for the dodger, closing on it a few feet at a time.

A third time the dodger vanished with untraceable speed, and Harry put his theory to the test. Looking higher up, he grinned when he saw the little orb wink into existence twenty feet higher than Draco and double back on itself, leaving Draco's efforts confounded. Flying up higher to set up for what he planned to be his final swoop, Harry veered higher than the dodger, feigning confusion, and let Draco catch sight of the ball.

"This one's mine, Potter," Draco shouted as he shot at the ball again, closing in on it faster than ever.

Harry ignored the taunt and angled down towards the empty air twenty feet above the dodger's current course. As Draco streaked for the ball, coming to within inches of the orb and reaching out for it, Harry for an instant wondered if Malfoy might actually catch it, but stayed true to his course. As the dodger blinked out of Draco's clutches, Harry snapped out for the orb as it appeared right in front of his fingertips. As he closed his hand around it, the ball let out a puff of air and quit moving.

"I caught it!" Harry shouted triumphantly, stopping in midair above the rest of the Slytherin team. He held the dodger out for them all to see as Travis raised his hands and began to clap. The rest of the Slytherins, minus a silent Draco, joined in. "Good game Draco," said Harry politely as he slowly descended passed the other boy.

Draco shook his head. "You cheated," he whispered, a false grin on his lips as the two first years slowly made for their team. "I don't know how but somehow you cheated."

"No foul play," said Harry. "And no hard feelings I hope."

Draco glared over at Harry but remained quiet as they landed. Travis ran to greet them. "That was amazing, both of you," he said, accepting the dodger from Harry. "I don't think I've ever seen a performance quite that extraordinary from anyone, much less a pair of first years." He stopped and looked at Harry. "As promised," he said, "you've earned the position of Seeker. Good job, Harry, good job. And Draco, brilliant show. Now, let's run the drill again."

The rest of the practice went by smoothly. Harry and a third year played the positions of Seekers on different teams while Travis worked with the other players on more group oriented tactics. Harry, already having caught the dodger's pattern, managed to snare it twice more, though he intentionally began slowing down towards the end to let the other player catch it once. Doing so would keep anyone from realizing he'd figured out the pattern, Harry reasoned.

After his first Quidditch practice, the days all began to blur together. Harry traded his time spent in detention for time spent running errands for Dumbledore, which consisted mostly of going to and from the library with various books. The boy quickly memorized the different locations within the expansive hall of books and even, with Dumbledore's express permission, got to run a few books back to the restricted section. On a scant number of occasions, Harry had to run to the apothecary and ingredients closet, more like an entire wing of the castle by itself, for the headmaster and he took the opportunity to get a feel for what all was there. Harry's only complaint was that, due to Dumbledore being as busy a man as a headmaster could be expected to be, the old wizard had yet to find the time to tutor him on how better to control his sorcerous abilities.

Shrugging off the anxiety to learn, Harry told himself there would be plenty of time. Dumbledore, he thought, probably had good reason for waiting, and Harry found plenty of other ways to busy himself. Practicing for Quidditch and spending time with Ron, Neville, and Tracey took up the bulk of the young student's free time, and Harry quickly learned that having only twenty-four hours in a day made for tight schedules.

Even Draco became less and less of an issue as the days ticked by. Harry's roommate took to the habit of avoiding Harry whenever possible, even going so far as to spend every waking minute before curfew out of the pair's room. Much to Tracey's frustration this often meant Draco would spend tediously long hours in her room with Pansy who, Tracey explained to Harry, had taken quite a liking to Malfoy.

Harry decided that, as a sort of less than harrowing penance for inadvertently dumping his roommate on Tracey, he would make it up to her. Thusly the two spent a great deal of time in the library where Tracey would help Harry locate particular texts for Dumbledore. More than once the two of them ran into Hermione who, for whatever reason, refused to talk to either of them, preferring to spend her free hours going over and over her spellbook and the texts that sat open all around her table.

On a few rare occasions, Harry would bump into Bacid in the sewers. The water moccasin claimed to have adapted to the cool water and busied himself with gorging on the many rats and insects that thrived in the dank tunnels. Harry noticed, and commented on, Bacid's rapidly increasing size. Over the course of only a few weeks the serpent had grown to almost two feet in length and changed colors from dark brown to completely black. Bacid dismissed Harry's idea that the rats here might have been somehow magical in nature, claiming that it was only because he was eating so many.

"Sometimes I get as many as thirty a day," the snake had boasted. "And never less than five."

Harry didn't fully believe Bacid's claims, but let the serpent gloat in peace

When the last morning of October dawned, Harry had to double-check his calendar, unable to believe that so much time had passed. To the boy's awe however, no matter how many times he counted the weeks, tonight was indeed Halloween. All that day Ron and Tracey spared Harry no details about all of the festivities scheduled for the celebration. For one, Ron overflowed with enthusiasm, curfew would be extended to incorporate all the fun. There was to be a great feast to start the night off right, followed by scavenger hunts and games and celebrations all night long, with tomorrow being a day off.

That evening, when everyone had gathered in the great hall, Harry wasted no time in finding Neville, Tracey, and Ron already at their usual table. He sat down to join them just before Dumbledore took to the stage at the far end of the hall. The headmaster greeted all of the students and congratulated them on how far they'd already come. He then, as on the first night of school, clapped his hands to fill the empty plates at all of the tables with stacks of food.

As the four students at Harry's section of the table conversed and plotted about what to do with their free day tomorrow, other than recover from tonight's festivities, Harry looked up and, on a whim, glanced at the table where Hermione Granger usually sat alone. He remained unsurprised to see her there again, by herself.

_Oh well,_ he took a sip of the spicy pumpkin drink in his goblet, watching with great amusement as the liquid in the container refilled itself. _I made the offer,_ he thought, thinking back to how quickly Hermione had rejected the invitation he and Tracey had extended to her in the library earlier today.

Just as Harry began to look back to the friends at his table, a glimmer of green movement caught Harry's eye and he saw Draco and his gang, all arrayed in fresh new cloaks, approaching Hermione. Harry almost got up, but decided this presented him with an opportunity to test an idea. As Draco and his gang of thugs clustered around Hermione, sitting down all around her, Harry drew on a bit of magic and directed it with a thought to focus his hearing. As if an invisible cone of paper formed between his head and Hermione's spot, all sound from all other directions faded to a dull whisper and he heard Draco speaking as clearly as if he was only a few feet away.

"So have you finished that assignment for me yet?" Draco asked, his tone mockingly jovial. "It was more than generous of me to give you an extension."

"I told you," Hermione said, "I'm not doing your homework for you. Any of you," she scanned all of the faces around her.

Draco's face hardened and Pansy Parkinson shoved Hermione, almost knocking her from her seat. "Well why not?" sneered the girl. "Too hard for the little muggle-born brain in there?" she tapped Hermione on the top of her head.

Hermione steadied herself and faced Draco, ignoring Pansy. "I'm not going to do it for you," she said, her voice shaky though her face remained placid. "That's not going to change."

"You should learn your place," Draco growled through a smile. "It's the dirty people like you who give wizardry a bad name. If not for blood traitors like Dumbledore and half the other people at this school, the best you could hope for would be to serve your betters. You have no right to be here. Filthy mudbloods like don't belong anywhere but in a shallow grave with the rest of your sordid, worthless, kind."

Harry listened, folding his hands in front of his mouth as the rest of Draco's gang began laughing and taunting Hermione. Each of them took a turn calling her a 'mudblood' and saying that she'd never be as worthy as any of them, while Hermione just sat silently and stared at the table. Harry's blood felt hot in his veins and he started to stand, but as he got to his feet, Hermione stood up.

"Excuse me," she said, eyes moist as she turned and headed for the main exit. "I've got to go to the bathroom," the girl stammered long after leaving the range of her persecutor's hearing. Harry stood and watched her leave, able to hear as she began to sob as quietly as she could.

It wasn't until Harry felt a tug at his sleeve that he remembered the other students around him. "Huh?" he snapped to, ending his spell. "What?" He looked down and saw Neville trying to get his attention.

"Earth to Harry," said the boy. "What's going on?"

Harry looked back at the door, then at Draco and his laughing cohorts before he sat down. "Nothing," he muttered a few seconds later. A sickness eating at his chest through most of the feast destroyed Harry's appetite. _I should have gone over to help._ The thought stuck in his head until long after Draco and his thugs had gone back to their other seats.

"Help me!" a voice screamed, filling the hall with an ear piercing wail.

Everyone in the hall turned and Dumbledore, sitting at the table on stage with the other teachers, got to his feet. Professor Quirrell, his wine colored robes and partially unraveled turban flailing out behind him as he ran though the hall, sprinted to the stage screaming for help.

"Troll!" shouted the man, pointing frantically down the hall. "There's a troll in the dungeon!" A long silence-filled pause overtook the room. "Thought you'd like to know," Quirrell said to Dumbledore before swooning to one side and fainting.

Dozens of conversations leapt to life all over the hall, quickly rising to a thunderous din as the students began to panic.

"**Silence!**" Dumbledore's voice demolished all other sounds in the room, shaking goblets, rattling plates, and bringing an utter quiet over the students. "We are not going to lose ourselves!" he went on, still shouting but no longer at such a deafening volume. "All school prefects are to lead their classmates back to your respective common rooms. Professors McGonagall and Snape will accompany me to the dungeon to deal with this, while all other teachers are to lock down the rest of the corridors leading away from the lower levels."

"What about him?" McGonagall stepped up beside Dumbledore and gestured to an ostensibly unconscious Quirrell.

The headmaster sighed and shook his head. "He'll be fine," said the old wizard.

"Oh no," Harry muttered as he and his friends got to their feet.

"What is it?" asked Neville.

"Hermione," Harry answered. "She's still in the bathroom."

"What?" Tracey spun to face him. "Are you sure? How do you know?"

Harry looked around for the Slytherin and Gryffindor prefects as his group began moving to join the students gathering at the mouth of the hall. "It doesn't matter, just trust me. Listen," he faced Neville and Tracey. "The dungeons are huge and Dumbledore might not get to the troll in time. You two," he said, scanning the room and seeing that Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall had already gone, "find Dumbledore and tell him where Hermione is at. If you see the troll, just run. Ron and I will go find Hermione and get her out of there."

"What!" Ron and Neville both exclaimed.

"Good idea," Tracey interjected. "We'll tell them your going to get her so they know what to expect. Neville let's go."

"Are you both insane?" Ron barked. "We could die or at best get in so much trouble for this."

Harry grabbed him by the shoulder. "Would you rather lose points or see Hermione dead?" he asked.

"Ron," Neville said, shaking but clenching his fists. "Harry's right. Hermione needs our help."

Ron's mouth dropped open, but he nodded. "Fine," he said. "Let's go."

"Good luck," Tracey said, turning with Neville and running for the exit through which Dumbledore had departed.

Taking advantage of the chaos in the hall to slip by the overmatched prefects and into the side passages, Harry and Ron ran west, stopping only when a grating roar sounded in the lower levels of the castle. The baleful sound seemed to come from every door and side hall all at once, freezing Ron in his steps.

"I can't do it Harry, I can't do it," Ron's voice wavered as he stood in place, shivering.

Harry sighed and looked down the hall towards the stairs at the end which he knew would lead to the first basement and the girls bathroom. "I understand," he said. "Ron if you don't want to go then head back and find the prefects."

Ron shook his head and swallowed the lump in his throat. "No, I'm not going to let you do this alone," he said. "I won't let you go alone, but I can't go through with it. Harry I'm too scared."

Frustration welling up in Harry's chest, he didn't even realize that he loosed a small stream of magic from his reserves and laced it throuh his voice. "Ron, I appreciate it but you need to move," he said, a supernatural and honey-like smoothness to his words. "One direction or another, move."

Ron shook and fumbled for his balance as though Harry had jostled him. "Right," said the Weasley, straightening up and taking a deep breath. "Right, right, let's go get Hermione."

Harry nodded and set off down the hall, a freshly reassured Ron in tow. As the two students ran down the steps Harry began to realize, mostly because of the feeling of fatigue pulling at him, that he had done something with magic to his best friend. Pushing the thought out of his head, he focused on finding Hermione as he and Ron broke into the upper levels of the dungeon.

"This way!" Ron pointed down the hall. The pair ran down the corridor and turned down a side passage, stopping just before two big wooden doors. "This is," Ron stammered, looking up, "oh boy."

Lightning flashing through the thin windows cut high in the wall threw a colossal shadow on the wall only a half dozen meters ahead of the students. A second passed and thunder boomed as the troll, an enormous bipedal beast more than twelve feet tall, lumbered around the corner. Dragging a club the size of a tree behind it, sickly yellow eyes dully luminescent, the troll turned just as Harry and Ron disappeared through the door.

"Hermione!" Ron hoarsely whispered, throwing his back against the door to try and hold it shut. "Hermione are you in here?"

Harry spotted down the long line of toilet stalls. Each door was open, but at the sinks on the other end he caught sight of Hermione, standing in front of the mirror and washing her face. He ran to her and grabbed her arm.

"Hermione we've got to go right now!" he said.

The girl turned on him with bloodshot eyes and jerked her sleeve out of his grip. "What are the both of you doing here?" she asked. "This is the girls room. Can't you read?"

"Can't you hear?" Ron hissed, running up next to Harry. "There's a troll right outside that door."

"What?" Hermione gasped.

All three students turned as the massive door opened and the hulking shape of the troll stepped inside. Turning to face them it reared up to its full height in the lofty room, reaching up to scratch the side of its swarthy face and chuckle. Taking a few quick steps forward it reared back with the club, still laughing.

"Run!" Harry shouted. He grabbed Hermione's arm and broke to the left as the club came crashing down where they'd just been standing.

Ron jumped out of the club's path as it tore up the tile and smashed it to dust, but he couldn't recover and rolled to the ground beneath the sinks. The troll reared back for another swing as Harry and Hermione circled around behind it, both children drawing their wands. The troll looked over its shoulder as Ron scampered away from the beast, away from the door, on all fours under the sinks. With a chugging laugh the troll spun and swung horizontally at Harry and Hermione.

The girl grabbed Harry's collar and pulled him down to the ground as the club passed overhead and demolished the line of toilet stalls behind them. Falling to the ground amidst a shower of splintered wood, Hermione screamed and covered her head while Harry dropped his wand.

_This is all insane_,Harry thought, looking for and snatching up his wand. He pointed it at the troll while the monster recovered from the clumsy strike. Shouting a Latin word he'd once heard Dumbledore use, Harry aimed. His wand vibrated in his hand, stinging his palm and fingers with the sensation of dozens of biting insects, and flashed green. A bolt of force, visible as an undulation in the air, shot from the wand and smashed into the troll's back. The monster crumpled and fell forward, catching itself on the wall.

Harry grinned as Ron tried to crawl for the door passed the troll. _I like this wand,_ Harry thought, not bothering to guess by how much the implement had amplified the attack he'd intended for the beast. His temple throbbed as the exertion knocked the wind from his chest, and he gasped to catch his breath. "Run!" he shouted again.

The troll screamed, the shrieking note piercing the students' ears and cracking the mirrors as its fatty hand reached under the sinks and grabbed Ron. Hoisting the screaming Weasley up by his ankles, the beast turned on Harry and Hermione and swung at them with the club again. Harry grabbed the girl's wrist and pulled her out of the way as the club again demolished the floor. Taking a plodding step between the students and the door, the troll swung horizontally just as its targets recovered from the last attack. Both Harry and Hermione dropped to the ground to dodge the second attack as the troll paused and looked at Ron.

The boy, screaming in terror, swung at the troll and punched it in its fat lip. The beast jerked its head back and grunted as though the blow had actually stung, and frowned. Dropping its club the troll reached up and slapped Ron around with its free hand, knocking him around like a limp fish. Ron stopped screaming and hung loose in the troll's grip, face bloodied, his eyes rolling back in his head. The troll laughed and slapped the boy once more.

Rolling to his back and pointing his wand at the troll with both hands, Harry seethed when he saw Ron go limp. "Ron!" he screamed, gathering all the magic he could muster and focusing it through the wand. Filling the air with a resonating clang, as though a great hammer had struck a hollow iron tube, Harry's wand pulsed in his hand, again biting his fingers with what felt like the stinging of fire ants. Another bolt of force, this one straight as an arrow and glowing dimly emerald green shot from the tip of the wand and slammed the troll in its cheek.

Spinning on its heel as though sucker-punched by a creature as large as itself, the troll dropped Ron with a grunting yelp of pain as its head snapped to one side. Hermione's head slowly turned as she looked at Harry in utter shock and disbelief.

The young sorcerer, still laying on his back, jaw clenched, hands locked on his wand, took aim at the troll again. Fire burning in his skull, making his whole world seem painfully bright and hot, Harry drew on another wave of magic and a third time his wand bit into his hands with a room-shaking clang. Beryl sparks shot through his fingers and one more missile shot from the wand and thudded into the back of the troll's leg.

The creature buckled and dropped to one knee, growling as a violent pulsing and a heat overtook Harry's head. The boy's concentration shattered and he reached to press his palm into his temples. The troll slowly looked over its shoulder at Harry and Hermione. All brutish playfulness gone from its face, its broken and dislocated jaw hung away from its skull on one side, bits of bone visible through its pulped skin.

The creature roared in a war cry, grabbed its weapon, and raised the club over its head. As it jumped to its feet and Harry opened one eye to see, Hermione pointed her wand at the floor and reached inside her robe. Drawing out a tiny bit of dried pork wrapped in plastic, Hermione spat a command and the fatty meat burned up in a flash. As the molten plastic bubbled on Hermione's palm, making her shout in pain and clutch at her hand, the troll charged forward.

As soon as the creature set its foot down however, the floor at its feet shimmered and a thick layer of a grease appeared over the stone. The troll gasped as its balance failed it, and the creature's feet shot out in front of it. With a thudding boom the troll landed flat on its back in the puddle of thick oil. Harry saw his chance and pointed his wand. Drawing inspiration from the heated pain in his head he commanded the magic in his chest and it leapt forward from the wand in a stream of emerald fire. The flame washed over the greasy troll and instantly ignited both the puddle and the monster in a small pillar of green and orange fire.

After a few seconds the fire went out and the troll stopped screaming. Harry dropped his head on the ground and took a few deep breaths. Looking over at Hermione and reading the shock on her face, he squinted through the magic induced migraine. Guessing that he'd completely exhausted his store, he reached out to touch her on her knee.

"Are you alright?" he asked, trying to smile.

Hermione stared at him for a moment before nodding. "Thank you," she said.

"What are friends for?" he answered, sitting up and gesturing to her hand. "How's the burn?" he asked, seeing that she'd clawed away most of the plastic, leaving a blistered patch of skin beneath.

"Not too bad," Hermione said, turning as both students heard a groan from Ron.

Harry forced the pain to the back of his mind and stood up with a little help from Hermione. Both crossed the gap to Ron as quickly as they could and knelt down by the battered Weasley.

"Did I miss anything?" Ron groaned, opening one of his two black eyes as Hermione propped him up. "I told you this was stupid," he smiled through his split lip.

Harry grinned. "You didn't get it that bad," he said. "I'm sure-"

All three students froze as the troll, still laying in a heap and clutching its weapon, groaned and tightened its grip on the club. Sitting up the monster turned on them and got to its knees, staring with its good eye at the children. It's flesh mostly burned away, the revealed muscles beneath twisted into an unmistakable expression of rage and the troll screamed, pushing itself up to its knees and brandishing its club.

Harry's breath caught as he reached for his magic and found only an empty well with no power to draw. Hermione and Ron both screamed as the creature stalked forward. The students all turned to scurry away as the troll reared back to crush them, but only saw the creature freeze where it stood. Harry watched as the troll dropped its club and began rising into the air, uttering a moan of surprise. With a shriek of pain the monster imploded in on itself as if crushed in the grasp of an invisible fist. The beast's unrecognizable remains fell to the floor in what resembled a lacerated bag of leather filled with soiled meat.

Sitting huddled together in shock, Ron, Harry, and Hermione looked over the troll's remains to the figures standing at the entrance of the bathroom. Lowering his wand, Dumbledore crossed the room with McGonagall in tow. Remaining at the entrance, Neville and Tracey both peeked through the door at the battlefield before them.

"Are you three alright?" asked the senior wizard, kneeling down by the students and positioning himself between them and the remains of the troll.

Glancing amongst themselves, Harry, Ron, and Hermione nodded, though it was Harry who spoke. "Yes sir," he said. "Slapped around a little," he looked over at Ron. "But we're OK."

"Speak for yourself..." Ron groaned, rubbing his cheek. "I don't think I'll ever be pretty again."

Dumbledore smiled but McGonagall stormed up beside him before the wizard could say anything. "You three," she fumed, "five," she glanced back at Neville and Tracey, "are in more trouble than you can imagine. Fifty points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor and indefinite detention for all of you. What were you thinking? You would have certainly been killed if the headmaster and I hadn't arrived when we did."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Professor, I think you might be overreacting," he said, holding up a hand to silence McGonagall when she tried to interrupt. "What they did was dangerous, yes. But as Miss Davis and Mr Longbottom explained, they did it to help save a friend. And," he added, "if not for their actions we almost certainly wouldn't have made it to Miss Granger in time. With that in mind, for bravery in the face of extreme adversity and loyalty despite the looming threat of death, fifty points to both Slytherin and Gryffindor. I will not however, revoke your decision on detention. But I would," he reached out and put his hand on McGonagall's back, "ask that you reconsider."

The woman in the deep red cloak pressed her lips together and looked down at the cluster of students. "If you had all been fifth or sixth years," she said, "I'd call this an act of great courage. But as it stands I call it foolish and brash... if still brave. One day's detention..."

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all looked at each other triumphantly.

"...to be served tomorrow," McGonagall finished.

"Ohh," all five students complained at once.

Stepping aside, Neville and Tracey parted as Snape strode into the room, wand in one hand, a flask of bubbling green liquid in the other. Dumbledore and McGonagall both turned as the out of breath Potions Master approached and put away his wand. Harry noted that Snape, usually one who moved with a serpentine grace and fluidity, walked with an uncharacteristic stiffness. Harry saw the man refused to bend his left leg and moved with a noticeable limp.

"Professors," Snape muttered, surveying the situation. "I see you neutralized the creature."

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "But we had help. These three's effort went a good long way in softening it up for me. Where have you been Severus."

Snape looked straight at Dumbledore as if no one else in the room existed. The man's face remained as cold as the moment he'd entered, ready for a fight. "I wanted to ensure Quirrell made it to the infirmary in one piece," said Snape. "You know he's of a somewhat... lesser constitution."

"I see," said Dumbledore. "Well I'm sure you did the right thing. For now, perhaps we can put this whole messy episode behind us."

As everyone began to clear out of the room, Snape mentioning that he'd sick the house elves on cleaning up the troll's mess, Dumbledore caught Harry and walked with him back towards the main hall while McGonagall broke away with Ron to take him to the infirmary.

"That was a very brave thing you did," said the headmaster, walking slowly enough with Harry that the others began to pull ahead. "Miss Davis mentioned that the whole affair was your idea."

Harry nodded. "Yes sir," he said. "None of the others should get in trouble for it. Professor McGonagall understands that, doesn't she?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "I don't see any trouble coming of it," he said, putting his hands behind his back. "The good professor was only concerned for your sakes and once she cools down I'm sure she'll come to see the valor in the act. I owe you my thanks, as Miss Granger certainly wouldn't have made it if not for your efforts. Professor McGonagall and I were on the other side of the dungeon when Miss Davis and Mr Longbottom found us."

"I think I should be thanking you," said Harry. "You saved us in the end. I was..." Harry cut himself short.

"Out of your prepared spells?" Dumbledore prompted, glancing ahead to ensure that no one was paying attention to their conversation. "About that. Harry, I think it's far passed the time that you began sitting in on a few of my more advanced lectures. You possess enough raw talent, as evidenced by the condition of that troll when I arrived... tomorrow there won't be any errands but I'd still like you to drop by my office at noon."

Harry nodded, a huge grin spreading across his face. "Yes sir," he said. "Absolutely."

Snape lead Tracey and Harry back to the Slytherin's empty common room while Dumbledore took Hermione to Gryffindor's. Stopping in the entryway, Snape turned to his students and addressed them both nonchalantly.

"Allow me to inform you," he said, "that while what you did may be seen by everyone else in the school as daring or heroic, it was in fact quite foolhardy. I don't know by what luck you lasted as long as you did, but it certainly won't last in the future... don't be heroes. Now go to bed."

Tracey nodded and turned to Harry. "See you at breakfast," she said before turning around and heading down the hall. Leaving Harry standing behind in the common room.

Snape sniffed once. "Something to say, Mr Potter?" he asked.

"Actually professor," said Harry. "I have a question if you have a moment."

"Well if there were one tonight it would already be passed curfew," said the teacher. "Ask."

"Tonight at the feast Draco and his gang were hassling Hermione. That's why she got up and went to the bathroom, because they were calling her a mudblood," Harry stumbled as Snape's eyes lit up with what might have been anger, though his face remained emotionless. "So I was wondering, what is a mudblood exactly?"

"It..." Snape paused. He looked away and then back at Harry. "It's a derogatory term for a wizard or witch, a very derogatory term," Snape spoke each word clearly. "Essentially it means dirty blood or common blood and it's just about the foulest word one person can call another."

Harry bit his lip, suddenly furious with Draco. More so than usual he found himself fighting the urge to see if he really could turn his roommate into a rat to feed Bacid. "Oh," said Harry, swallowing bile and turning to walk to his room. "Well thank you. That's good to know."

"Mr Potter," Snape said, going on when Harry stopped and looked back to him. "Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, is one of the richest and most influential wizards in the world, not to mention one of the most powerful. For someone to harm his son without destroying all the evidence would not be in the best interest of that person. Likewise for that person to do it with a teacher in the immediate vicinity would be equally unwise." The teacher turned around, his robe flaring out behind him, and strode down the hall, his limp already less noticeable.

Harry waited until Snape had gone, then walked down the hall to his and Draco's room. Pausing at the door, still fighting the bile burning in the pit of his stomach he tried to decide what he would do when he actually saw the boy who had driven Hermione into harm's way. He took a deep breath and shook his head. The adrenaline was wearing off and his magical migraine still thumped in his skull, making clear thought less than possible.

_I'll just go to bed,_ Harry thought, walking in and immediately spotting Draco sitting at his own desk.

Draco turned to Harry with a smug grin. "Where have you been off to?" said Draco. "Fighting trolls was it?"

Harry stumbled. "How did you know?" he asked, walking across the room and sticking his fingers through Hedwig's cage to pet her. A quiet hiss caught his attention and he looked on his bed to see Bacid's head poking out at him from beneath his pillow.

The snake flicked its tongue. "Want to hunt rats tonight?" it hissed, too quietly for Draco to hear. "There's a hole in the wall too high for me to reach with a whole nest inside."

Draco fiddled with his pen and leaned back in his chair. "The prefect knew you were missing. He even saw you leave and as soon as he said it I knew you and Weasley had gone for Granger." He pivoted his seat around to face Harry. "Well you're alive and here so I'm guessing you saved her eh?"

Harry nodded. "Ron and I got there in time," he answered, his self control already straining. "Fortunately."

"Pity," said Draco as casually as ever. "When I heard about the troll I'd begun to hope it might actually get to her." He didn't see as Harry's fists clenched and the young sorcerer walked up next to his bed.

Harry looked at Bacid and held his hand down next to his pillow. "On," he whispered to the snake. Bacid quickly curled up Harry's arm and hid beneath his sleeve.

"Oh well," said Draco, spinning back around to face his desk. "I guess you can't have everything you want. But eventually that little mudblood will get what she has coming."

Harry walked up behind Draco and grabbed him by the collar. Wrenching him to his feet and jerking him around to throw Draco's back into the wall, Harry grabbed the boy by his neck and thrust his hand into Draco's face. "Bacid," Harry hissed to the snake. "Care to see what he tastes like?"

"What the hell are you doing," Draco shouted. "I'll have you flay-" He stopped struggling and his threats stammered to a halt as Bacid poked his pitted head out of Harry's robe.

Slithering forward and pushing the flowing sleeve up to Harry's elbow as he reared up, Bacid unwound the first twelve inches of his body from Harry's arm and peered down at Draco through slitted yellow eyes. The snake turned and looked back at Harry. "Piss you off, did he? Help me get to those rats and I'll waste a bite on his face."

"I'm thinking," Harry whispered.

"Potter," Draco barked. "Call it off, call it-"

Bacid whirled on Draco, stretching his huge white mouth open wide and revealing his unnaturally long fangs with a spitting hiss. The threat instantly silenced Draco, and Bacid held its maw open to keep the boy in check, the twitching fangs more than enough to keep Malfoy quiet.

"He's not worth your time," Harry said, still holding the snake out towards Draco. He looked from the serpent to the boy and took a heavy breath. "If you," he gestured to Malfoy, with Bacid for emphasis no less, "so much as look at Hermione ever again, or ever try to hurt her again, I promise you that your father won't be able to protect you from me. This is your last warning," Harry hissed, his words as venomous as any snakebite, "leave me, and my friends alone, or I will make you suffer."

Shoving Draco's throat and stepping back, Harry held up his arm to bring Bacid to eye level. Again the snake hissed at Draco, bearing his fangs to add weight to Harry's words. "It should go without saying that if you mention this to anyone," said Harry, stopping and letting his words sink in. Without finishing he turned and walked from the room, closing the door behind him.

A quick succession of short hisses escaped Bacid as Harry slumped against the door. "I enjoyed that," laughed the snake. "The brat was scared stiff. Bet it felt good for you too."

Harry shook his head. "Let's get you to those rats," he said.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – Assumptions

Stirring from a nebulously unpleasant dream, Harry woke the next morning, pulling himself out from under the bed in the unoccupied room in which he'd slept. Heading back to his shared cell, he wondered briefly why students were made to share quarters when an entire hall of rooms sat unused just opposite the occupied quarters. Finding Draco already gone and Hedwig unmolested, Harry got dressed and went to breakfast to meet Tracey, Neville, and Ron.

Sitting around the table, the four students alternated talking about the woe of their detention, scheduled for late that afternoon, and their victory over the troll the previous night. Neville and Tracey spared no energy in congratulating Harry and Ron, with Ron hungrily snapping up the praise while Harry mostly nodded and acknowledged that everyone had done their part to help a friend in need.

"You seem better," said Harry, looking across the table at Ron and nodding to his bruised face. "I can barely tell a troll beat you senseless."

Ron shrugged. "You should have smelled the medicine they made me drink," he said. "It looked like a black soup, smelled like death, and tasted like..." he stopped and looked passed Harry. The students at the table all shifted as Hermione, carrying a tray of breakfast, stepped up beside Harry and waited sheepishly.

"Mind if I sit here?" she asked.

Harry scooted closer to Neville and widened the empty spot next to him. "Of course," he said. "Please do."

Hermione smiled and sat down. The other students at the table all looked around at each other for a second as an awkward silence settled over the group. Hermione bit into a biscuit, not making eye contact with anyone. Harry cast about as Tracey crossed her hands and Ron stared at him.

"Whose coming to the game next Friday?" Harry asked. "First match of the season, Hufflepuff versus Slytherin."

"You're going to need to watch out for Cedric," Tracey answered quickly. "He's a third year, but he's been given the position of Seeker... and he's good."

Ron nodded. "My dad knows the Diggorys," he said. "They start their kids off in flying lessons early but I don't think its anything you can't handle."

Clearing her throat, Hermione looked over at Harry. "If you'd like," she said, "I've got a book on Quidditch that you could have. Its all about strategies that have been used by successful players over the ages."

"Sure thing," said Harry. "In fact, why don't all five of us grab some practice brooms from McGonagall's office and see about getting in some training drills?" He glanced to Hermione. "Maybe we can put that book of yours to use."

As they all finished breakfast, Hermione and Neville both ran back to the Gryffindor common room while Ron and Tracey accompanied Harry to McGonagall's office to ask about borrowing some brooms. When the Professor initially refused their request, citing Harry's tendency to fly too hard as her reasoning, both Ron and Tracey assured the Professor that Draco Malfoy wouldn't be anywhere near the practice grounds. Upon hearing that, McGonagall's demeanor softened noticeably and she agreed to loan out the broomsticks on the condition that should anything go wrong, Harry and Ron would be held personally responsible and docked twenty points. As the trio left McGonagall's office with the brooms, Tracey stopped at the bathroom along the way.

"That was awfully nice of you," said Ron as they waited outside the washroom.

"What was?" asked Harry.

"Going out of your way to include Hermione... I just hope it doesn't turn into her talking our ears off or telling us we're doing everything wrong."

Harry grinned and sized up the broomsticks. He wasn't really looking forward to riding one of the hand-me-down devices when his Nimbus 2000 sat unused in his room.

"I think you should give her a chance," said Harry. "You never know how she might surprise you."

"I don't plan on being surprised," said Ron.

Harry laughed. "Nobody ever does," he patted Ron on the back. "But at the very least, you can never have too many friends. Let's just see how it goes."

Greeted by a warm morning and a cloudless sky, everyone met on the Quidditch field at nine thirty and Harry passed out the brooms. Hermione volunteered to remain on the ground and call out the drills while everyone else flew them, but Neville decided that rather than fly he'd stay on solid ground with Hermione. Practicing for several hours, losing track of time as none of the students had thought to bring a watch, no one seemed to take notice of the morning slipping by. Hermione would explain a drill, mounting a broom and slowly demonstrating if the exercise was complicated, while Harry, Ron, and Tracey flew the patterns and passed various objects amongst themselves or threw balls at targets.

Harry had just finished executing a flip, catching a ball with relative ease and absentmindedly going over the previous night's troll attack, when the young Sorcerer froze. Sitting atop his broom and staring dumbly at the ball in his hand, the thought occurred to Harry that his battle with the troll had taken up a great deal of his personal store of magic. That realization alone was nothing new to Harry, and in fact he still felt the fatigue tugging at him, though the migraine had since subsided. The thought that stopped Harry cold was the memory of Hermione staring at him during the battle. Harry's mind had just worked out that Hermione had seen him perform feats of magic well beyond the abilities of any first year student.

_Couple that with everything she reads and... if she puts it together that I'm a sorcerer..._ Harry thought, glancing down at the girl on the ground from the corner of his eye. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to think straight. He shook his head but the anxiety hung at the forefront of his mind like a numbing haze. _There's no way she's forgotten what I did, but maybe she doesn't know how I did it._

Harry remained frozen as his brain floundered. _No, no don't be stupid. Hermione is brilliant. She has to know. And if she tells anyone then they'll throw me out of Hogwarts and send me back to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia,_ he cringed.

"Harry!" Hermione called, snapping the young sorcerer from his ruminations with a gasp. "Are you alright up there?"

Harry cast about and noticed that everyone was looking at him. He took a quick, deep breath. "Fine," he answered, tossing the ball back to Tracey. _Stay calm, stay calm... don't act suspicious,_ he thought. _Even if she does know she doesn't have any proof. If I act like nothing's wrong and just make sure she doesn't go snooping too deep I should be fine._

As a bell tolled only once from the other side of the school, Harry looked from his broom over towards the tower. "Oh no!" he shouted, dropping quickly to the ground by Hermione. Ron and Tracey both followed him, confused, as Harry handed the ball to Hermione. "I just remembered," he said. "I was supposed to meet Dumbledore at noon."

"Better hurry then," she said, taking his broom as he handed it to her. "Don't you want this to get back faster?" she tried to hand the broomstick back to him.

Harry turned and ran off towards the school. "I'd fly way too fast and we promised professor McGonagall," he shouted, turning around to wave goodbye to the others.

Harry crossed the grassy field as quickly as his feet would carry him and ran through postern door into the school's northwestern wing. Ignoring what few students he passed, the boy sprinted through the halls and up the stairways before arriving at the little alcove filled with the statue of a perched eagle.

"Comitis," he panted, completely out of breath and barely able to utter the password. Harry walked into the alcove, trying to get his breath as the eagle slowly began to pivot on its stand and rise up a shaft hidden at the top of the alcove. Holding onto the eagle's wing as it came to a stop, Harry stepped off the pedestal and into the into Dumbledore's personal library.

All four walls being taken up by bookshelves that ran to the ceiling, the only windows in the room had to be in the ceiling where the panes, which were themselves the size of large tables, let in copious amounts of the plentiful afternoon light. As Harry crossed the room to the cracked door on the other side, he stopped short when a voice escaped the other room and reached his ears. Unable to hear exactly what had been said, but recognizing the voice as Snape's, Harry paused and slowly approached the portal.

"I understand," said Dumbledore from the other room. "But Severus, I know what I'm doing. I trust your judgment completely but I need you to trust mine. We need to give it time."

"He's a danger to everyone in the castle," Snape countered. "If we act now, expose the issue and strike while we still have the chance before he catches on then we could buy ourselves valuable time, maybe as much as _another_ decade. He knows I suspect him already and our chance to catch him off guard is quickly passing us by. We should strike soon if not immediately."

Harry gulped, the thought of being found out still fresh in his mind. Before he could leave however, he heard Dumbledore sigh. "At the expense of our friend."

"It was his choice."

"He was weak willed. It could have been any of us."

"It was still his choice," Snape repeated, "both to betray us and then to so brazenly come back to his position, expecting us to be none the wiser."

"We don't know that for sure and we're not going to argue about this Severus," said Dumbledore. "I'm going to keep looking for a way to break the enchantment-"

"And in the meantime our students will suffer and learn nothing. What if he makes a move against Potter? The boy would be defenseless."

"I'm sure you'd never let that happen," Dumbledore responded.

"Of course not. But-"

"Then just keep up the good work, Severus, and trust me. If you're so concerned that Harry is in direct danger, and you don't trust yourself or me to keep him safe, then give him the cloak as Lily requested."

A long pause issued from the room before Snape spoke again. "I might just do that... but right now I think I'll go have a word with Hagrid."

"Be well, old friend."

Harry heard footsteps from the other side of the door and took a few quick steps back. As the door opened, Harry stepped off the pedestal on the other side of the library and crossed the room, meeting Snape halfway and greeting him with a polite nod of the head.

"Professor," said Harry, noting that the man's limp was almost completely gone.

"Mr. Potter," Snape answered without stopping. He boarded the lift and spoke a word Harry didn't hear.

Harry approached Dumbledore's door and knocked. He opened the door when Dumbledore called from the other side, and crossed the threshold into the headmaster's expansive, split-level office. Dumbledore sat at his enormous mahogany desk, hands resting on an open book, and looked up as Harry entered.

"Ah," said the headmaster, "I was beginning to wonder if you'd lost your way."

"Sorry professor," Harry responded, still noticeably out of breath. "I was out on the Quidditch field and lost track of time."

"I imagined you had a good reason," said Dumbledore. "Now, are you ready to begin?"

Harry nodded. "Yes sir," he answered enthusiastically.

Dumbledore reached for the heavy book on the corner of his desk and spun it open in front of Harry. "I checked your grades thus far," said the headmaster. "And I'm quite impressed. The only area that needs any concerted effort is your grasp of Arcana so that's where we're going to begin."

Harry's face contorted in confusion. "But sir," he said. "I've made almost full marks in Arcana... and I thought you were going to help me with," he paused and turned around to make sure there was no one standing at the door, "with sorcery."

Dumbledore smiled. "I plan to, but allow me to explain... I'm not a sorcerer, Harry," he said, leaning back in the chair. "But I've known three in my lifetime, including you, and all three were at one point or another my aide and student. I however have no sorcerous talent.

"It's a bit like poetry, Harry," said Dumbledore, "sorcery is. It's something you have to feel, something that's guided not by science, like wizardry, but by raw intuition. No one can teach you to be a better sorcerer, not even me. Like a poet, you'll have to draw on your own inspiration for both power and control. My job," he patted the book on the table, "is to show you the tools you'll need to compose that poetry, and let you do the rest."

"I don't understand," said Harry. "What kind of tools do you mean?"

"Training. I've trained two other sorcerers in my time," said Dumbledore. "And, if nothing else, I've learned more than a few things that help someone with your gifts. For instance, given the nearly limitless possibilities sorcery provides, it's difficult to practice the specifics of your technique, leading you to practice sorcery in a reactionary manner... formulating your spells to fit the moment with no forethought or preparation."

"I thought that was the whole point," said Harry.

"Not exactly. Tell me Harry, what do you do to practice magic?"

Harry stumbled. "Um... I, well I try all kinds of different little exercises. I try to come up with different things to do that... well, use magic."

Dumbledore smiled. "Your mother gave me a similar answer when I asked her that question. Can you guess what I told her?"

Harry shook his head. "No sir."

"That she was completely missing out on her full potential," said the headmaster. "Random exercises are fine to stay sharp, but they'll do next to nothing to advance your understanding of your abilities. You'll never grow without a concerted and focused effort to expand your understanding of magical principles beyond simple sorcery."

"Alright," said the boy. "What should we do then?"

"I plan to teach you spells in much the same way as I'd teach a wizard, just as I did your mother, and let you draw inspiration from them and manipulate them as you see fit. Hopefully, given time, you'll not only learn to think about what you yourself are capable of, but also how to think and plan ahead for what you might have to face so you'll be ready for anything. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised by how quickly your horizons will expand."

The young sorcerer fiddled with the end of his robe. "I'll definitely give it a try."

"You won't be able to cast the higher level spells of course," said the headmaster, "you're simply not ready for that, but I'll show you what they do and have you write them in your spellbook nonetheless. But to do that," he tapped the pages and pages of seemingly indecipherable runes in front of Harry, "you're going to need a much deeper understanding of Arcana and Spellcraft then what you'll learn in a first year's curriculum."

Harry tightened his lips, feeling his stomach turn at the concept. "Good thing I'll be learning from the best," he made an effort to smile.

The rest of the afternoon passed so quickly Harry couldn't honestly say he knew where it went. Dumbledore brought Harry's chair around to the other side of the desk and pulled out all manner of texts and scrolls, having Harry read through a page of runes in one of the headmaster's many spellbooks, then try to tell Dumbledore about the spell the symbols represented. Even after repeating the drill over and over again, Harry struggled with the exercise, being able to point out little more than from which school of magic a given spell originated. When the boy grew frustrated, Dumbledore would help him along and point out patterns that existed within each spell and carried over from the less complex cantrips to the more complicated incantations.

The headmaster frequently demonstrated the effects of the spells he had Harry studying. From invisibility, to telekinesis, to minor evocations of flame or bursts of cold, Dumbledore burned through components ranging from flecks of paint to small gemstones in order to show Harry the effects of the spells and give him ideas of his own. After every demonstration, the old wizard would give Harry a moment to think about what he'd seen, then ask the boy how he might go about imitating the effect and altering it to fit a wide variety of scenarios. Most of the time, Harry couldn't muster anything above the obvious, but Dumbledore didn't seem to mind. The headmaster would nod, say that Harry was doing well enough for the present, and return to the demonstrations.

"And if you're not particularly careful," said Dumbledore, standing in the offices open center. Holding a small orb of flame that resembled a tiny sun in his outstretched hand, the headmaster's fingers shook and cast long shadows all across the room, "then this can happen." He opened his palm and the little sun exploded in a burst of light and fire. Harry ducked behind Dumbledore as the flame curved around older wizard's invisible shield of energy and dissipated into a thin smoke. "You see," said the headmaster, turning around to Harry. "Very dangerous. Useful beyond measure if you ever stumble across a vampire, but dangerous still."

"I see," said Harry, stepping back into the middle of the wide open area in the center of the office. "So that was real sunlight?" he asked.

Dumbledore nodded. "A very diluted form thereof for the purposes of safety, but yes," he answered. "If I had chosen to allow more energy from the ruby to fuel the spell, then it would have been far more impressive. You'll learn in later years that you don't have to allow all the energy from a component into the reaction of a given spell."

"But you'll just store the energy in your Dwoemer for now," said Harry, "and use it later."

"Exactly," said the headmaster.

Harry paused and considered the concept for a moment while Dumbledore took a breath and rubbed his hands together. "Professor," said Harry when he noticed Dumbledore's hands had yet to be so much as singed by any of the spells he'd demonstrated. "I've seen Hermione Granger cast a few spells by now and..." he paused again, "every time she does, she burns her hand. Why is that?"

Dumbledore sighed and sat down behind the desk, motioning for Harry to also have a seat. "For one, she's only eleven. She hasn't had much of a chance to practice casting spells efficiently. As she grows and gains experience, it will be easier for her to control the energies without as many negative effects," answered the headmaster.

"So it has nothing to do with her being a muggle-born?" Harry asked as he sat down. He sank back in his chair a little when Dumbledore didn't answer right away. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added quickly, feeling that he'd just struck a touchy subject.

"No, you're partly right," said the headmaster. "Muggle-borns do tend to struggle with magic more than half-bloods and pure-bloods. It's not because they're any kind of lesser person than those with magical lineage, though some people would contest that point. It's simply a fact of life, just like people with tall parents tend to be tall, though there's more to it than that. Miss Granger, no matter how smart she may be or how hard she studies won't advance as quickly or grow to be as powerful as if she were a half-blood or a pure-blood. Should she have children however, even with a muggle, those children would reap the benefit of their mother having magical experience and grow more quickly for it."

"Why is that?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore shrugged. "Why does magic work at all?" he said. "Honestly Harry, I couldn't tell you."

"Alright, if you say so," he glanced up at the clock on the wall and his eyes went wide. "Not again, I'm going to be late," he griped.

"I'll take care of it," said Dumbledore, reading Harry's mind. "I'll inform McGonagall that I was making you useful so you won't be in trouble for missing detention. In exchange though," he drew a scroll bound with a leather thong from behind his desk. "I'll ask you to return this to the library for me."

"Thank you," said Harry, standing up and accepting the parchment. "Where does it go?"

"Section eleven, row nineteen, case three, shelf twenty-seven, " the headmaster recited. He leaned forward and handed Harry a small copper token. "It's in the restricted section, so take this. You'll see the spot where it goes."

"I'll bring the pass back when I see you tomorrow," said Harry.

SC

"Case three, case three," Harry muttered as he scanned all down the row of bookshelves and glass cases. Searching in the waning sunlight slipping through the windows set high in the vaulted ceiling proved a tedious task, though Harry did eventually find his destination. Shelf twenty-seven of the third case in the row being high overhead, Harry looked up at the spot where he was to put the scroll, then spotted around for a ladder. Finding nothing, Harry paced about the shelf, peeking around corners and down rows of shelves to make sure there was no one around.

Drawing on a bit of magic, Harry focused the energy into his fingertips and felt an itching overtake his hands. As his fingerprints expanded off his skin, growing into a mesh resembling the skin of a gecko, Harry slipped the scroll-case under his arm and grabbed hold of the edge of the wooden case. Testing his hold when his fingers stuck to the wood, Harry gripped the wood and carefully pulled himself up to the twenty-seventh shelf and slipped the scroll into the only empty slot in sight. Taking a second to catch his breath, Harry glanced about the great chamber of the library and immediately spotted a figure in a dark robe pacing slowly down one of the rows of bookshelves.

"It's after hours," Harry whispered to himself. "There shouldn't be anyone in here unless they have a pass or," the young sorcerer grinned and quickly lowered himself down to the floor after memorizing in which direction the hooded figure had been walking. Curiosity pushing him forward, and Dumbledore's pass feeding his courage, Harry snuck through the stacks, aiming towards the northern end of the library to intercept his target. Coming into an open stretch, what served as a hall, Harry noticed the tail of the figure's robe vanishing down a row of books. Again drawing on a stream of magic, Harry wrapped himself in a sable cloak of obscuring haze and continued his pursuit. As he closed on his quarry, the sorcerer peered ahead and watched the subtle limp with which the person moved.

_Snape,_ Harry thought. _He's not carrying any books or scrolls and he's headed towards the study rooms. That doesn't make any sense..._

Following Snape to the extreme edge of the library, Harry ducked behind a couch as the professor stopped in front of the closed door to one of the library's many side rooms. Pulling his hood back from his face, revealing that it was indeed Snape beneath the cloak, the man drew his wand from his belt and put his hand on the doorknob. Mouthing a silent incantation, Snape threw the door open and took a single stride into the room beyond. Harry bolted forward as quietly as he could and stopped just short of the door to listen as a scream of terror exploded inside the study room.

"Severus!" the voice, Quirrell's Harry thought, shrieked. "What are you doing h-"

The man's question died in his mouth and Harry heard footsteps and another gasp of fright as Snape muttered something too quiet for Harry to hear. Quirrell's voice dropped to a similar volume and Harry poked his head around the door's jam to see inside. He spotted Snape, holding his wand at Quirrell's neck. The man in the turban, hands all the way out to his sides, stood with back against a tall mirror rimmed in gold, stuttering and pleading for his life.

"Drop the act," Snape whispered, pressing the point of his wand into Quirrell's windpipe. He went on to utter something that, being turned away from Harry, couldn't reach the sorcerer's ears.

Quirrell's stuttering ceased and faded into a mocking grin. "Well I don't rightly know," he answered. "Why did you let that troll into the dungeon and then go get yourself bit by the dog?"

Snape grabbed Quirrell by the collar and shoved him against the mirror. "One more lie out of you," said Snape nonchalantly, "one more step in the wrong direction and it's over. I don't know why a terrified little fool like you wants the Stone, but it's mine and mine alone. Are we clear?"

Quirrell nodded. "Clear as day," said the shorter man. "Want to bring the Dark Lord back yourself, do you? Still the same old Snape endlessly pining for the approval of his master?"

Snape stood absolutely still for a moment, before releasing a smug Quirrell and lowering his wand. Quickly sheathing the slender implement, Snape turned on his heel and strode for the door. Leaping away from the portal, Harry ducked behind another couch and peeked out to look as Snape exited the room. The tall man stopped at the exit and straightened his cloak, looking around and rubbing his leg before walking off down the hall. Harry remained hunkered behind the couch, waiting for Quirrell to emerge, having seen no other exits from the room while spying on the two teachers.

Several minutes went by and Harry had just begun to get up, when he heard footsteps and ducked back behind the furniture. Quirrell emerged from the study room, stopping exactly where Snape had. The teacher in the turban took a moment to look around, terrifying Harry by looking directly passed, or perhaps through, him before casting his gaze elsewhere.

"D-d-d-damn him," the teacher stuttered. "He's going to take the Philosopher's Stone and use it to bring back Voldemort... well not if there's anything I can do about it. If Dumbledore is too blinded by his friendship to act then I will." Quirrell took a quick breath and walked off into the library.

Harry remained seated behind the couch for a moment, until he was sure he was alone. Wringing his mind for answers, he scanned his memory for the name Quirrell had used. Piecing together that the Dark Lord and Voldemort must have been the same person, Harry immediately concluded that Voldemort was the same Dark Lord everyone called 'You Know Who' … the man who had killed his parents.

Gritting his teeth, got up and walked from the library, dropping his magical concealment and heading towards Slytherin's common room. As he splashed through the shallow puddles in the sewer, Harry's brain turned over and over the exchange he'd heard between Snape and Quirrell. The mere thought that Voldemort, or the Dark Lord, or whatever people called him, was not entirely dead and could come back infuriated Harry. The idea that someone, much less someone at Hogwarts might be trying to bring him back filled Harry's mouth a bitter taste so palpable the very air he breathed tasted acrid. Passing through the empty common room and down the hall, Harry arrived at his door and found it open, with a note pinned to the wooden frame. Tearing down the paper and stepping inside, Harry stopped short.

Something about the room felt off and it took the boy a moment to realize how profoundly empty the room looked. Spotting around, Harry noticed almost immediately that all of Draco's things were missing, as if Malfoy had just up and moved out and, sitting at his desk and scanning the note in his hand, Harry realized that was exactly the case. The note, a letter from one of Slytherin's prefects actually, was a formal notice that Draco had requested a room of his own and that, since Draco's request had been approved, Harry would have the room to himself for the duration of the school year.

"Well there's some good news at least," said Harry, crumpling the paper and throwing it away. He got up and crossed the room, taking Hedwig from her cage and running his fingers through her feathers. As the owl happily soaked up the affection, Harry's mind returned to the conversation he'd heard in the study room. He knew better that to assume Snape's guilt based on a conversation from which he'd only heard one side, but he also knew that meant he could trust neither Snape nor Quirrell.

"Two things seem pretty clear, Hedwig," Harry put his bird on her perch and leaned back on his bed. "Something is very wrong at Hogwarts... and it as something to do with whatever that dog is protecting."

SC

"Go Harry, go!" Ron screamed at the top of his lungs. "You can get it!"

Rocketing through the air on his Nimbus 2000, arm outstretched, Harry raced through the clear afternoon after the Golden Snitch. Right beside him, neck and neck with his own fingers straining after the prize, Cedric Diggory chased the Snitch like a man possessed. Below the two boys zipping over the Quidditch field like hornets, the rest of Slytherin's and Hufflepuff's teams fought viciously over the every point, seeming to intuitively know that the end of the game was drawing close. Both sides knew that either Cedric or Harry would soon have the Snitch and thusly Slytherin and Hufflepuff tried to gain enough of a lead over the other to make up for the vast number of points either Seeker seemed only seconds from scoring.

Draco Malfoy, leaning into his broom and blasting forward with blinding speed, shot passed Hufflepuff's Chaser, tearing the Quaffle out of her hand and nearly knocking the girl from her broom. An instant later Draco ducked under the yellow clad Keeper and rolled on his broom the fire the Quaffle through the goal. Immediately the crowd, with the exception of the Hufflepuffs, erupted in thunderous applause. Having since stopped keeping track of how many points Draco won for Slytherin, everyone, even the students in Gryffindor, simply cheered every time Draco scored, the boy's unparalleled aggression and speed more than making up for the rest of his team's somewhat lackluster performance.

Pausing to scan the field, Draco looked up and spotted Harry and Cedric zipping and weaving through the sky after the Snitch. He shot an angry glance at the scoreboard, quickly trying to estimate how long it would take him at this rate to ensure that even catching the snitch couldn't put Hufflepuff ahead. He grumbled under his breath and raced after the recovering Chaser. Not giving her a chance to regain her balance, he shot passed her after the Quaffle.

"Not bad Harry!" Cedric shouted, still following directly beside the younger Seeker as the Snitch lead them over the green and silver Slytherin section of the arena. "But not quite fast enough!" He pulled ahead and grabbed for the golden orb, but it ducked out of the way and doubled back.

"Watch out!" Ron shouted, throwing his hands in the air as Cedric and Harry nearly collided. When Harry's quick maneuvering averted the crash, Ron sighed in relief and sunk against the railing. "That was close," he turned to Hermione who stood watching the game through her binoculars.

"Harry had control," said the girl, offering the binoculars to Neville so he could have a better look.

"Man I envy him," said Ron, returning to the game. "A first year and he's already a Seeker giving a Diggory a good run... I mean look at them all," he glanced at the crowd gathered for the game, many of whom were already chanting Harry's name. "You'd think he was a celebrity or something."

Neville laughed. "Well he is," said the boy, returning Hermione's binoculars. "Not only is he the boy who lived, but he's a Seeker and a troll-slayer."

Ron's face fell and he checked the scoreboard.

Pulling a turn that nearly threw him from his broom, Harry spun in midair and dove after the Snitch. Racing only a few feet over the heads of his fellow students, Harry banked to the left after the Snitch as the ball dodged the scorekeeper's tower. Harry reached out for both the Snitch and his magic. As the flitting golden orb raced back into the sky over the arena, Harry in tow, the sorcerer readied a quick burst of magic. He'd never charged this broom's core with his own power, unsure of the what the consequences might be, but now seemed like as good a time as any to find out to Harry's adrenaline fueled mind.

Sending a pulse of energy into the broom's core, Harry jerked backwards in his stance, almost flying off his mount as the broom kicked forward. Reflexively he grabbed for the Snitch, feeling his fingers brush its polished side, before he stopped dead in the air. The sudden deceleration catapulted Harry forward, but he caught the tip of the broomstick and held on. Shouting for help as his broom began bucking like an enraged bull, trying to throw him off, Harry reached up to grab onto his mount with both hands. As fiercely as the broom was trying to kick him off however, Harry could never keep more than one hand on the stick at a time.

As the audience began gasping and pointing, Hermione pulled out her binoculars to get a better view. Neville and Ron, both boys sitting beside her, jumped up and Ron drew his wand. He pointed it up towards Harry and drew a single feather out of his robe.

"What are you doing?" Hermione gasped, putting her hand on Ron's elbow to disrupt his aim.

"Let go!" Ron shouted, repositioning to aim at Harry again. "We prepared a Feather Fall spell in class yesterday and I never used it so I've still got it ready to go."

Hermione blinked, surprised by Ron's quick thinking. "Oh, well are you sure you can get him?"

Ron nodded. "Not while he's jerking like that," said the redhead. "But if he falls then I'll know where to aim. What's happening to him?"

"Someone's put a curse on his broom," said the girl, raising her binoculars and scanning the crowd on the opposite side of the arena while Harry continued to spasm helplessly overhead. "It's probably telekinesis so-"

Neville tugged on Hermione's robe. "There!" he pointed off to the left, towards the stands off to the left, Slytherin's section.

Looking through the binoculars, Hermione spotted Snape and saw that the Potions Master was indeed looking up towards Harry and moving his lips. Though she couldn't hear what he said, Hermione did notice the teacher had drawn his wand, hidden it beneath the folds of his sleeve, and had it aimed at Harry.

"It's him," said Hermione. "Good job, now let's go," she grabbed Neville and pulled him along.

"I'll be right here," said Ron, still pointing his wand as Harry rolled around in the air.

While Harry hung on for all he was worth, Cedric turned from his pursuit of the Snitch and, upon seeing Harry's condition, abandoned the pursuit altogether and rushed over to help. As he neared, he reached over to grab the broom, but the device jerked away and nearly threw Harry off. Shouting for Harry to grab hold, Cedric tried to maneuver his broom up beside the younger Seeker. Harry's cursed broom however kept jerking away from Cedric while still trying to pitch Harry off.

"What are we we going to do?" asked Neville as the pair of students ducked behind the wooden bleachers and ran towards Slytherin seating.

"Snape's already got the curse up," said Hermione, reaching to her belt and drawing her wand, "but you have to concentrate to maintain telekinesis so we're going to distract him. Once his focus breaks Harry will have a chance to get to the ground."

Ducking behind the row of teachers sitting with Slytherin, Hermione and Neville crept up to the back of the group and the girl pointed her wand at Snape. Reaching into her robe and pulling out a tiny pinch of yellow sand, Hermione whispered a command and tossed the sand towards the teachers. The gritty material flashed and burned up, blasting a spray of rainbow colors out over all of the teachers gathered for the game. The multicolor beam passed over the teachers with no apparent harm, though Snape and a few others blinked and swooned. Snape dropped his wand as nausea overtook him.

Immediately Harry's broom ceased struggling and both the boy and the broom dropped like stones. Barking his command and snapping the feather between his fingers, Ron pointed his wand at Harry the second he saw his chance. The feather disintegrated between his thumb and index finger and Ron flinched as the resultant powder flashed into nothing. Harry tumbled a few feet farther, then stopped abruptly and continued downward much more slowly a heartbeat later. He touched down on the ground a moment later as the crowd continued to shout and point.

"Harry!" Cedric shouted, swooping down and stopping next to the stunned student. "Are you alright?"

Harry sat still for a moment, before feeling something twitch under his coat. Reaching behind his leather jacket, Harry pulled out the Golden Snitch and stared at it as the orb went still in his hand. Grinning, unable to figure out how it got there, Harry held it up for everyone to see. The crowd took a moment to go quiet, but cheers quickly went up from everyone as Harry held the Snitch high.

Cedric grinned and shook his head. "I can't believe it," he muttered.

SC

"I can't believe it!" Tracey barked. She angrily set down her goblet and looked at Harry, who sat across the table from her and Neville. "What in the world was Snape trying to do yesterday? Did he want you dead or something?"

Harry shrugged and crossed his arms, having skipped lunch and instead just sat with his friends. "How should I know?" he asked. "I mean, why would he?"

"Well, you are one of the few Slytherins who really has friends in other houses," said Ron. "Maybe he resents that?"

"Snape wouldn't be that petty," said Hermione. "Besides, Tracey is still alive," she gestured to the other girl.

Harry thought for a second, leaning back in his chair. "Is there any chance that Snape was actually trying to help me?" he asked, drawing awkward glances from everyone but Hermione. "Any at all?"

"Well, he might have been trying to counterspell," Hermione said. "If we assume that it was someone else using telekinesis to control your broom then it's possible Snape was trying to undo the magic with a telekinesis spell of his own... but doing so when you were so far away would be next to impossible," she went on. "Most counterspelling is extremely difficult and takes careful concentration even at close range."

"I just can't see Snape trying to kill me in front of everyone like that," said Harry. "Even hiding in a crowd that big, he had to know someone would see him. Neville spotted him easily," Harry nodded to the boy across the table. "Thanks again for that by the way," he said, "to all of you."

Neville nodded. "That's what friends are for."

"Don't sweat it," said Ron. "But I still don't get it," he muttered, looking down at his plate. "Snape has been a professor here for years, since my brothers were just starting out. It doesn't make any sense."

"Plus," Harry added, "Dumbledore trusts him. That alone is enough to make me think there's something bigger going on, especially since Dumbledore's been going out of his way to tutor me."

"Lucky arse," muttered Ron. "Some people have all the luck. Others just get beaten up by trolls."

Hermione glared daggers at the Weasley. "Be serious," she said. "There might really be someone after Harry. Brooms don't just go rogue on their own. Somebody has to make them. Snape's our best suspect, but if not him, then who would it be?"

Tracey turned to Harry. "Couldn't you just ask Dumbledore for help?" she asked. "He'd listen to you."

"And ask him to do what?" Harry answered. He paused as the table went quiet, then got to his feet. "I'll think about this later," he said.

"Where are you going?" asked Tracey.

"Hagrid's," said Harry. "He invited me over for tea and I wanted to ask him a few things. Anyone care to join us?" he looked around the table.

Tracey and Neville both shook their heads. "I've got potions next hour," said the girl.

"Conjuration," said Neville.

Setting off across the fields north of Hogwarts, Harry, Hermione, and Ron trekked to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and stopped at the little hut on the edge of the jagged treeline. Hagrid's two room abode seemed far too small for the half-giant; even sitting down he remained at eye level with the lintel over the fireplace, on which he'd set his now empty cup of tea. The giant and the children went back and forth for the better part of an hour about classes and Hogwarts in general, before finally touching on the subject of Harry's Quidditch mishap.

"Terrible, terrible thing what happened yesterday," said Hagrid, folding his hands over his stomach as he looked down at the three students sitting in his parlor. "I'm just glad it all turned out for the better. That was an awful smart thing you did," he pointed at Ron. "Why if I could, I'd 'a given you ten points for that kind of quick thinking."

"It was pretty clever," said Ron.

"Hagrid," Harry interjected. "Would you mind if I asked you something rather direct?"

Hagrid shrugged and jovially nodded once or twice. "Go ahead," he said. "No reason not to I suppose."

"What do you know about the three-headed dog in the school?" asked Harry, drawing looks of surprise from both Ron and Hermione.

"The Cerberus?" Hagrid clarified. "Why that's Fluffy, one of my pets," he burst with a proud grin. "One of the best animals I ever trained. Bit temperamental, prone to biting, but that's exactly what she's supposed to do. I uh-" He stammered and looked at Harry. "How did you know about her?" asked the giant.

"I ran into her not too long ago," said Harry. "I lost my way, got turned around, and there she was."

"Uh-huh," Hagrid nodded, his tone some combination of disbelief and surprise. "I'll have to get Filch to check that bloody lock again. But Harry, and you two," he pointed at Ron and Hermione, "don't any of you go spreading around that we've got one of those on guard. The Ministry of Magic would have a cow, a mad cow, if they knew I'd loaned a Cerberus to Dumbledore to guard that thing."

"Guard what?" Harry asked.

Hagrid's face froze halfway through a laugh and he looked down at Harry.

"Guard what?" Harry pressed.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Hagrid tried to wave off the question. "Just some business between Dumbledore and one of his friends."

"Is it the Philosopher's Stone?" Harry asked. "Is that what you took out of Gringott's? Is that what the dog is protecting?"

Hagrid's eyes went wide and he sat dumbfounded. "How?" he stammered a moment later. "How did you know that?" the giant looked over his shoulder. "Did Dumbledore let you in on it? Did you run into Nicholas when I wasn't looking?"

Harry shook his head. "I read about the robbery at Gringott's and knew that you took something out of the vault that was broken into. I knew the dog was guarding a trap door and when I found out the dog was yours, it all fell into place," Harry said quickly, leaving out how he knew about the Philosopher's Stone in the first place. "Hagrid, who all know that the Philosopher's Stone is here?"

The giant shook his head. "I really shouldn't have told you any of that. And don't any of you go mentioning to Dumbledore that you heard any of that from me. It might just cost me my job."

"You didn't tell me," said Harry. "I figured it out," he lied. "But Hagrid, I need to know who all knows about the Stone. I think there's a connection between the Stone, the troll getting into the school on Halloween, and whoever tried to kill me at the game yesterday."

Pausing for a minute, Hagrid took a deep breath. "Well, you didn't hear it from me, but as far as I know, only Dumbledore, Snape, and me know about it. But Harry listen, it's important that you don't go looking for it. You hear? The Stone's protected by all kinds of things more powerful than Fluffy. It's safe. Alright?"

Harry sat still for a long minute, thinking. To everyone in the room it was obvious his mind was turning over and over something, before he looked up. "I think I've got it now," he said, standing up. "Hagrid, thank you very much for the tea, but I need to go see Dumbledore right away."

As he walked for the door, Hermione and Ron both got up to follow him out into field. The two students thanked Hagrid for the tea and quickly chased after Harry.

"Where are you going?" Hermione called after him.

"Dumbledore's," Harry answered, stopping and turning around. "Hermione," he said, "do you know what the Philosopher's Stone does, exactly I mean?"

Hermione and Ron skidded to a stop. "What is going on?" asked the girl. "Harry, you're not making any sense."

"Trust me for a minute," said Harry. "What does it do?"

Thinking for a second, the girl cleared her throat."Well it's supposed to make the owner immortal," said Hermione. "Or at least that's the official story. Really it's not so much immortal as it is very, very healthy. The Stone can be used to brew the Elixir of Life which will cure any disease, and restore anyone, even someone on death's door to perfect health. One sip every century or so and the drinker could, in theory, live forever. Nicolas Flamel is over a thousand years old after all."

"Can it bring back the dead?" Harry asked.

"No," Hermione shook her head. "Absolutely not. It can only restore, not revive."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Harry mumbled, turning in place. "Voldemort is dead, everyone knows that."

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione both gasped. "Don't say that name," Ron continued. "Never say You-Know-Who's real name."

"Snape being a potions master makes sense, more than Quirrell, but neither of them could use it to bring Voldemort back," Harry went on, absorbed in his own thoughts, "unless..." he paused, not wanting to accept the implication. "He isn't really dead," muttered the boy. "Oh god."

Hermione grabbed Harry's shoulders. "What's going on?" she asked, holding him still.

Harry took a deep breath and thought for a second longer. "The Philosopher's Stone is hidden somewhere in the castle, and I think either Snape or Quirrell is after the Stone because they want to bring Voldemort back..." he waited as both Ron and Hermione stared at him dumbly. "I was in the library," Harry added, briefly explaining what he'd seen transpire during and after Snape's argument with Quirrell.

"I'm pretty sure both of them knew I was there," the young sorcerer went on. "Snape just didn't say anything because Quirrell was right there, and Quirrell didn't say anything because he either wanted to warn me about Snape without drawing attention, or because he was trying to draw my attention away from himself. One of them is working for Voldemort and the other is trying to warn me about the other. I can't be sure which is which, but I'm positive it's one of them that's after the Stone because they're working for Voldemort."

Hermione bit her lip and took a quick step back. "Harry," she said. "You-Know-Who is dead. You of all people should know that. You killed him after all."

"No, obviously I didn't," said Harry, almost shouting. "Look, I'd like to believe he's dead, but that just doesn't line up with what's going on. Think about it. If you assume that Voldemort isn't dead, even that he's barely hanging on, doesn't it make sense that one of his followers would try to bring him back using the Philosopher's Stone?"

Ron looked at Harry very intently for a second. "Are you sure you're only eleven?" he asked.

"Seriously, Ron," Harry groaned. "Doesn't it make sense?"

Ron and Hermione looked between one another for a minute.

"Even if it does," answered Hermione. "And I'm not admitting that you don't sound completely insane, because you do, but what do you plan on doing about it? It's not like you'd be a match for either Snape or Quirrell."

Harry laughed once. "Well, I'm not going to fight them. I'll tell Dumbledore what I know and let him handle it from there."

"When?" asked Ron.

"Right now," Harry answered, turning around and walking south towards the school. "He needs to know as soon as possible."

"Wait," Ron called after him. "You're going to be late for class."

"Which is so much more important than the return of the most evil man who ever lived," Harry called back. "If I'm right I might not have until after class."

Ron and Hermione both took one more look at each other and ran after him.

"You're not going alone," Hermione said.

SC

Sitting with his hands folded on the desk in front of him, Dumbledore listened silently as Harry related all his thoughts on Snape, Quirrell, and Voldemort. The old wizard let Harry speak his part, listening with no expression at all while Hermione and Ron waited on the steps. When Harry had finished, Dumbledore got up and motioned to the two Gryffindor students, saying that it was just about time they went to their classes. Hermione almost began to protest, but a single raised eyebrow from the headmaster cleared the room.

"You believe that, do you?" asked Dumbledore, sitting back down behind his desk.

Harry nodded. "Assuming Voldemort survived and he's still out there somewhere, then yes. It makes as much sense as anything."

Dumbledore took a deep breath and looked off towards the one window not on his office's ceiling. Set in the west wall, a golden perch sat in front of the window, letting the afternoon sunlight illuminate the vibrant plumage of the crimson bird sitting on the perch. About the size of a swan, the creature sat with its eyes closed, lazily napping. "Beautiful creatures Phoenixes," said the headmaster, getting up and walking across the room to scratch the colorful animal's feathers. "Harry, you've put me in a difficult position."

"I'm very sorry, professor," Harry looked at the Phoenix. "How did I do that?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Because you're right about one of the teachers here working for Voldemort, but I desperately want to help Quirrell however I can," said the headmaster. "He's a very clever, if weak willed, individual and you've managed to put yourself square in his sights. I don't blame you Harry, but if Quirrell knows you saw him arguing with professor Snape, then I fear he'll want use your knowledge of the episode as a shield. It's good you came to me first or he might have tried to turn you against Severus or even me."

"Professor, I don't understand," said Harry. "How would Voldemort control professor Quirrell?"

"Any number of ways," said the headmaster. "And unfortunately I have no way of determining exactly how without tipping my hand. Quirrell and I were friends before this whole nasty business, so I assume the Dark Lord used a particularly evil curse to rob professor Quirrell of his free will. That is why I'm working on a ritual to break that curse. If however, he has simply given his will over to the Dark Lord, then we'll no choice but to take... measures I'd rather avoid."

"Which means Voldemort really isn't dead," said Harry, ignoring the unease in the pit of his stomach.

"No Harry, he isn't. But you don't need to be afraid. You're safe here-"

"I'm not afraid," Harry interrupted, "not of him."

Dumbledore smiled and tapped the desk to get Harry's attention. "Then you're a braver man than I," he said.

"He's just a man, and men can be killed," Harry growled, tightening his fists at his sides. He stopped short of going on and tried to suppress the growing bitterness in his chest. "I'm sorry," he said. "Where do we go from here?"

"You," said the headmaster, "are going to go about your normal routine as though you didn't know any of this. Leave the rest to me."

Harry nodded. "That sounds like the smart option if there's nothing I can do to help."

"I'm sure the time for that will come," said Dumbledore. "And if it does, I'll let you know. For now though, you're a normal first year, worrying about your classes and nothing more than that."

"Understood," said Harry.

After Dumbledore instructed Harry to bring his spellbook to his office beginning next week. Harry said goodbye and left the headmaster's office. Much to his surprise, Hermione and Ron were both waiting for him outside in the hallway, books in hand and faces worried.

"We talked it over," said Hermione, nodding to Ron when Harry asked what they were doing. "And, no matter how crazy it sounds, we both think that there might be something to this idea of yours of You-Know-Who still being out there. If there is, then no one is in more danger than you."

"What she's trying to say," Ron piped up, "is that from now on we've got your back."

Harry smiled and put a hand on Ron's shoulder. "I appreciate it, but," he paused. "There's no need for you to put yourselves in danger for me. If I'm wrong then there's nothing for it anyway, and if I'm right then there's nothing for it either."

Hermione tapped her foot and crossed her arms. "Bollocks," she said. "You," the girl paused and looked between Harry and Ron before refocusing on Harry. "You saved me from a troll, I'd be dead if not for you," she said. "If standing up to the most evil man whose ever lived is how I can pay you back for that then fine, I'll do whatever it takes to help."

"Besides," said Ron, "you're our friend."

"If you both insist," Harry grinned. "Come on, all three of us are already late."

SC

Harry never knew that Dumbledore taught the fifth year Gryffindor students' Defense Against the Dark Arts at the same time that Quirrell taught the same subject to the first year Slytherins. Thusly, it came as no small surprise when the headmaster gave Harry a pass from Quirrell's class to audit the higher level course. It came as even less of a surprise when Dumbledore announced to Harry that the rest of their tutoring sessions would focus almost exclusively on principles related to defending against darker magic.

Flying by for the young sorcerer, the following weeks seemed to Harry to have gone before they'd even arrived. He had a room all to himself that he could use to stay up late studying the spells Dumbledore had him scribe in his spellbook. He had sessions with the headmaster that seemed to grow longer by the week, despite feeling shorter by the day, during which his pace of study rose to a frenzied, frustratingly fevered pitch. And he had more new information from Dumbledore to process than he felt his brain could handle. The actual first year curriculum, Harry began to think, was nothing more than an annoying distraction from his real studies under the headmaster...

Spending time with his friends and playing Quidditch ate up the final hours of Harry's days, making up the brief intervals between his curricular and extracurricular studies. The boy tried to make time for Tracey, Hermione, Ron and Neville, going so far as to skip Quidditch practices to meet his friends for lunches or stints in the library, working to ensure that none of the friendships slipped away. Ron and Hermione, both going well out of their way, made every effort to spend as much time with Harry as possible. They'd walk with him between classes, sit on either side of him during meals, and even walk the wrong halls to ensure that he made it back to Slytherin's common room safely. Harry didn't complain, resolved to let the pair believe they were protecting him from a threat they weren't even sure existed.

When November shrank into the cold clutches of December and the snows began to fall, Harry learned that he'd be welcomed to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday while most of the other students went home. On the one hand the news left him with an elation he couldn't describe, as the thought of returning to the Dursley household made him ill... on the other he knew full well that his break would probably be just as busy, if not more so, than his actual term with respects to his studies under Dumbledore.

Regardless of the effort required, Harry couldn't argue with results. Dumbledore wasted no opportunity to point out how quickly the young sorcerer was advancing. The headmaster did however, view this rapid advancement as a perfectly good reason to load Harry down with even more magical formulas to study and practice.

When the holidays did finally arrive, Ron sprung the surprise that he would also be staying over the break while Hermione, Tracey, and Neville all went home to their families for a couple of weeks. The two young students saw their friends off, and proceeded to spend their time doing next to nothing. It was during the first week of vacation that, having been given a few days reprieve from Dumbledore, Harry learned that despite his considerable skill in games of strategy and tactics, he couldn't best Ron in chess. The pair played game after game, day after day sometimes for hours at a time, but Harry never won. He managed to battle Ron to a stalemate, once.

"I just don't see how you do it," Harry muttered, trying not to be frustrated as he stared down at the chessboard and studied his fifth loss that day. "Every move I make is the wrong one."

"Nothing to worry about," said Ron, a smug undertone in his voice. "It's not that you're always wrong, just that I'm always right."

"In chess," Harry looked up at him.

"In chess," Ron echoed, setting up the board for another game. "Honestly, I think your Quidditch makes up for it."

Sitting in the library, which the pair had, with the exception of a few higher year students working on papers, completely to themselves. The first Saturday of their vacation proved a lazy one. The gentle snowfall outside convinced Harry and Ron to stay inside, lounging around and enjoying the last few hours of Harry's freedom before his lessons with Dumbledore resumed.

Ron looked up and Harry turned around in the comfortable armchair as the footsteps approaching their shared coffee table stopped. "Professor Snape," said Harry, the surprise showing on his face when he saw the stoic teacher standing behind him. "Hi."

"Mr Potter," said the teacher. "A moment of your time, if I may..."

"Of course professor," said Harry, standing up as Snape turned away and began walking towards the exit. Harry shrugged to Ron and followed the professor as Ron silently mouthed, _I'll send flowers._

"Professor Dumbledore," Snape said nonchalantly as he lead Harry down a flight of stairs to a wide hall of nondescript doors, "has no doubt informed you of certain goings on within the school. Perhaps he's mentioned some involving myself and another individual currently in Albania."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. "If you're referring to professor Quirrell, then Dumbledore had mentioned the two of you are at odds over something."

Snape stopped in front of one of the unmarked doors and a grin tugged at his lip. "At odds... yes," Snape muttered, inserting his wand into the door's large keyhole and muttering a command phrase. "Then the good headmaster must have also informed you that you are to trust me over this other individual."

Harry nodded. "Yes sir, he's made that very clear."

"Good," Snape opened the door with a click and stepped inside.

At the teacher's direction, Harry followed and walked through the door into a large office stacked from floor to ceiling with boxes and crates of miscellaneous odds and ends. Snape navigated the maze of paths through the debris, picking his way around piles and showing Harry the way to a plain and unremarkable desk at the back.

"I can only pray you won't need it," said Snape, unlocking the desk and pulling open one of the drawers. Removing a false bottom from the compartment, Snape pulled out a flimsy package wrapped in brown paper. He blew the dust off the top and turned to Harry. "Nevertheless, it would be better that you have it and not need it," he offered the package to the boy, "than be caught wanting for it."

Harry took the package and looked up at the teacher. "What is it?" he asked.

"A gift, given to me for safe keeping until I could pass it to you, knowing you wouldn't abuse it."

Tearing away the paper, Harry unfurled a long cloak, the likes of which he'd never seen. Made from a material lighter than silk and far smoother, the cloak caught the dull light from the window behind Snape and seemed to neither reflect nor absorb it. The illusion as Harry perceived it was that the cloak was simply a void in the space between his hands, its silhouette visible only where the folds of the garments created pockets of shadow in between one another.

"Is this... what is this?" asked the boy, his mind trying to process exactly what it was he held.

"To grossly over-simply," said the teacher, nodding towards the cloak. "It's a cloak of invisibility, the most powerful known to exist. While wearing it you're completely imperceptible to all means of visual detection, both magical and mundane. The human eye will overlook you, divination will not be able to predict your actions, scrying will not find you, and wards will not detect you."

Harry's eyes went wide as he rubbed the slick material between his fingers. "Oh, is that all..."

"I give you this now," Snape said, "because I feel that against a certain individual, you can never have too much protection. Put it to better use than its previous owners."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven – The Land of Monochrome

The final Saturday morning of the Christmas holiday had arrived. Most of the students at Hogwarts would be returning by the end of the weekend at the latest, leaving Harry and Ron to eagerly await the advent of their friends. Waiting in the main hall the two boys sat with their goblets of pumpkin juice, keeping track of which students arrived at what times. It wasn't until almost three in the afternoon that Neville arrived, struggling with his suitcases and entering the hall through the smaller door set in one side of the main gate. Ron got up, mostly at Harry's direction, and helped Neville lug his things to Gryffindor Tower, while Harry waited for Hermione and Tracey.

Not five minutes after Neville and Ron were gone, Harry saw two familiar shapes stroll into the hall. Travis and Tracey Davis, both pushing small carts loaded with their things, made their way to the young sorcerer's table and stopped to greet him. Despite Travis's upbeat demeanor, Tracey's melancholy appearance drew Harry's immediate attention. Her eyes were red and her face seemed drawn. When Travis began pushing his cart towards one of the halls branching away from the main chamber, Tracey stayed behind.

"So," Harry began as Tracey sat down beside him, "how was your break?"

The girl looked over at Harry, face tight. "It was really, really long," she said. Tracey reached up and rubbed her eyes, sniffing to fight off a runny nose. "I'm glad to be back."

"Do you want to talk?" asked the sorcerer.

Tracey slowly shifted between nodding and shaking her head, looking very intently at the floor between her feet. "Family issues," she said, again reaching to wipe her eyes. "My dad's being... well a little stubborn."

"About what?" asked Harry. "Is there something I can do to help?"

Both students looked up as heavy footfalls approached their tables. Spotting Lucius and Draco Malfoy, Harry's stomach immediately tied itself in a knot. Seeing either one, much less both, of the elitists around Tracey right now gave the young Potter chills. Draco and Lucius both stopped and bowed politely to Harry and Tracey, Lucius a little lower than his son, while a brute in a green cloak pushed a heavy cart laden with what Harry assumed to be Draco's things.

"Mr Potter, Miss Davis," said Lucius, though he focused on the girl. "Always a pleasure to see both of you."

"Good morning Mr Malfoy," said Tracey.

"Well why so glum?" asked the older man, a serpentine grin lingering on his lip. "Surely this can't be over the relocation."

Tracey nodded. "Yes sir."

"Ah well, don't fret," Lucius smiled. "Marseilles really is a beautiful place. No student in the palace ever wants for any luxury. I'm sure you'll be very happy there."

"Wait," Harry interrupted, turning to Tracey. "Are you leaving Hogwarts?"

Tracey nodded, but it was Lucius who spoke first. "You mean you hadn't heard?" he asked, drawing a scowl masked in curiosity from Harry. "Terry Davis, Tracey's father and a prominent member of the wizarding community, somehow found out that a creature as dangerous as a Cerberus had been lurking in Hogwarts and he immediately went to the Ministry of Magic about it. The whole affair has turned into quite a spectacle down in London, what with the Ministry rightly in an outrage. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if both Dumbledore and Hagrid are called away for a hearing regarding their termination..."

Harry sat dumbfounded by the news, not wanting to stare at the girl beside him, but not particularly able to fight the urge. "I wonder how that got out," the sorcerer muttered, making Tracey twitch and bite her lip.

"However it did," said Draco, his tone notably less polite than his father's. "I'm glad that someone will finally be doing something about it. I'm positive that once the Ministry has possession of the beast they'll euthanize it, just like the rest of its mangy kind."

"Draco," Lucius put a hand on his son's shoulder. "No need to be so blunt." He turned back to Harry and Tracey. "Mr Potter, Miss Davis," he nodded and began walking away, followed by Draco and the cart pushing brute.

Sitting quietly until Draco and Lucius had gone, the two Slytherin students made great efforts not to look at one another. Her breath catching, still pressing her lips closed and squinting through tears, Tracy got up from the table and began walking away, abandoning her cart completely. Harry jumped up after her, looking between her luggage and the girl for a second, before picking up his pace and chasing Tracey down one of the exits.

"Hold up," he said, catching her and grabbing her arm. Both students skidded to a halt in the narrow corridor and Harry turned Tracey around to look at him. "What's the matter?" he asked, "Why are you crying?"

Tracey shook her head and looked down. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to tell him, it just slipped out. And now my dad is trying to get Dumbledore fired and he's taking me out of Hogwarts, and it's all fallen apart!" She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to fight back a few sobs. "It's my fault, but I'm sorry," she said.

"Not at all," said Harry, stepping forward and hugging her. He took a deep breath to suppress the frustration building in his chest as his mind began to race. Wondering how in the world the Stone would remain safe if Dumbledore left the castle made Harry's brain ache. "Stuff happens. Don't beat yourself up over it." Harry made sure she couldn't see his face and the mask of twitching anger thereupon.

Tracey cried into Harry's shoulder for several minutes before her sobbing began to let up and she leaned back a little. "Sorry," the girl repeated. She looked at Harry's clothes and the big wet patch she'd left on the shoulder of his robe. "I can get you a towel if you'd like," she laughed though the last few tears.

Harry grinned and shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said, turning and tugging on her robe a little. "Let's get back to the main hall before Draco gets back and robs your cart."

Making no effort to hurry, the pair trekked back to the main hall, where they found a fairly confused Hermione Granger standing by Tracey's cart. When the Slytherins arrived, Hermione greeted them both with hugs and questions about their holidays, leading Harry to quickly make himself the center of Hermione's attention while Tracey, much to her own relief, could stand back quietly while Harry talked. When the young sorcerer had filibustered all he could, Harry suggested that the three students meet up for one last dinner before classes resumed, an idea readily agreed to by both girls.

While Hermione ran off with her light load of luggage to inform Ron and Neville, Harry and Tracey both made their way down to the sewers. Pushing the girl's cart for her through the dank tunnels, Harry made an effort to keep Tracey talking about whatever crossed her mind, simply because it seemed the more she spoke, the stronger her voice became. To Harry the connection between talking and feeling better seemed obvious.

"But I'll at least be finishing up the year," said Tracey with an uneasy grin. "So you all will have to put up with me for a few more months. But after that, whoosh," she slapped her hands together, trying to make light of the subject, "off to Beauxbatons for me." Her lip fluttered.

"You'll make sure to write though?" Harry asked.

"Of course," she answered, "every day if I can. And I'll make sure to tell everyone there that first years at Hogwarts aren't even considered real students until they kill a troll."

Laughing, Harry stopped in front of the portrait hanging within the small recessed frame of the sewer wall. "Pure-blood," he said, stepping through as the wall opened up into the Slytherin common room. He turned Tracey's cart back to her. She hugged him one more time, thanking Harry for understanding, before wheeling her luggage back to her room. He waited in the common room, laying out on one of the couches and staring up at the ceiling for almost half an hour, absorbed in thought. The new problem presented by Dumbledore's possible absence ate at him, and the young sorcerer found his mind working just as hard on what could be done to protect it from whoever was trying to get it.

"Quirrell," he muttered. "Not Snape, Quirrell," Harry made himself think aloud. _It's not professor Snape that's after the Stone... probably. Still, all I know is that professor Dumbledore is trustworthy... unfortunately I can't afford to let that extend to professor Snape without concrete evidence, so I'll just have to assume neither of them can be trusted..._

Harry's brow furrowed as he studied a particularly perfect example of a right angle in the brickwork of the ceiling. _Completely imperceptible to all means of visual detection, both magical and mundane. The human eye will overlook you, divination will not be able to predict your actions, scrying will not find you, and wards will not detect you,_ Snape's words concerning Harry's cloak echoed in his head. _Completely undetectable,_ he thought. _I wonder..._

SC

"So what are we looking for," Ron whispered.

"Anything incriminating... anything at all," Harry whispered back.

"You mean besides half the junk in this office?" Ron replied, looking about the room through the hazy, refracting filter of the invisibility cloak. "I don't see why I had to come along for this."

"Because the cloak is more than big enough to hide both of us," Harry answered, "and an extra set of eyes never hurts."

Hidden beneath the perfect concealment of the invisibility cloak, Harry and Ron tiptoed around the numerous benches and workspaces scattered throughout professor Quirrell's office, picking their way by boxes of exotic trappings that had yet to be put up. The nighttime illumination, more moonlight than starlight by this point, filtered in through the windows set in the western ceiling and brought out the stark contrasts in the professor's personal room. Minotaur heads glared at the boys from their plaques on the walls, a great skeletal cat, flanked by unopened cardboard boxes sat eerily motionless as the cloak passed imperceptibly by.

When the boys reached the teacher's desk, Harry stepped forward while Ron held the corners of the cloak and put up his hands, forming a wall of invisibility between Harry the boys and the door. Harry had learned, through some experimentation, that someone need not be completely wrapped in the cloak to be hidden by it. Two people standing on either side of the stretched out garment, he'd learned with Dumbledore, could see right through the cloak to the opposite side of the room without seeing each other. Somehow the cloak seemed to differentiate between objects, making invisible only the things in the cloak's immediate vicinity, while leaving the inanimate scenery exposed.

"You sure he's really running late?" Ron asked. "'Cause if he's not-"

"Then we're in more trouble than we can imagine," Harry finished Ron's sentence, beginning to riffle through papers. "Trust me, professor McGonagall said that Quirrell was running late from Albania and wouldn't be back until Wednesday."

"That's in an hour," said Ron.

"I know," said Harry. "Maybe he'll be tardy or we'll find something in time to- Snape?" he muttered.

"Snape?" Ron asked.

"Snape," Harry repeated. "Or a letter from him to Lucius Malfoy." Harry examined the manilla envelope, noting the wax seal had already been torn away, and carefully withdrew the single page. Scanning the paper, Harry read as quickly as he could, while Ron focused on holding the cloak high.

"What does it say?" whispered the redhead.

"My dear Lucius," Harry read, "I've found a way to retrieve the object. The spell is keyed to Harry Potter's Dweomer as anticipated. Given enough time I can fool it. I don't trust Quirrell. He claims to be on our side. I find his story unconvincing. Be well until HE rises again. Your friend, Severus."

Ron and Harry both went silent as Harry quickly replaced the letter in the envelope and put it back exactly where he found it. By unspoken consent, Ron and Harry both moved in unison to hide beneath the cloak and make for the door. Exiting the room, harry pointed his wand through the cloak and whispered the word Hermione had taught him. The lock clicked and both boys walked as quickly as they could down the hall.

"Well if that isn't incriminating evidence," Ron muttered as the pair reached the entrance to the sewers.

"Nothing is," Harry finished the thought. "It seems too convenient," he said, looking up at Ron. "Like it's supposed to be incriminating. Do you think Quirrell forged it?"

"I think you're reading too much into it," Ron answered. "It seems pretty clear that Snape is the bad guy here."

"But it doesn't add up," said Harry. "There's too much circumstantial evidence pointing the other way... I'm still not convinced."

"Then you won't be until Snape makes you a sacrifice to You-Know-Who," Ron whispered, looking around as a gust of wind blew through the hall. "We really need to get going," he said.

Harry stepped out from under the cloak. "Use it to get back to Gryffindor's common room," Harry whispered, looking around to get a clearer picture of his surroundings.

"You sure?" Ron asked.

Harry nodded. "You can give it back to me tomorrow at dinner." No answer came, but the sound of nearly silent footsteps quickly vanished down the hall. Harry waited until he was sure Ron had gone, then ducked into the sewers. Drawing on a good deal of magic, the boy vanished from sight into the darkness, not even disturbing the surface of the water as he made for the common room. Sneaking in the door, through the empty room, Harry hovered invisibly down the hall and slunk through his door. Shutting it behind himself and turning around, the sorcerer gasped to see a the great shadow on his wall and whirled towards the candle on his desk.

With a flick of his tongue, Bacid turned to Harry from his spot on the desk. "Where have you been, I wonder," hissed the snake.

Harry exhaled and withered against the door as Bacid coiled up. "What are you doing here?" asked the sorcerer, taking a steadying breath.

"Got bored and wondered if you wanted to go hunting," said the snake. "Your owl makes for pleasant conversation when she's not threatening to eat me."

Harry glanced at Hedwig who appeared unbothered by the ophidian animal's presence. "Actually, I just got in from the sewers," said Harry, "but I think I've got an idea."

"Oh?" muttered the snake, raising its head in curiosity. "What would that be?"

"Well, if you can promise not to bite me..."

SC

"What do you mean?" asked Harry after raising his hand and waiting for professor McGonagall to call on him.

"Cotton in your ears?" asked the older woman. "I said the professor Snape won't be here today, so you'll be having study hall with the Ravenclaws instead, now everybody up," she raised her hands and motioned for the students to move. "And follow me."

Harry went silent, anxiety tearing away at his calm as he followed McGonagall and the other students down towards the main hall. So distracted that he didn't notice when Draco stepped up beside him, Harry literately jumped when Draco poked his shoulder. The young sorcerer whirled on Draco and glared at him.

"Don't do that," he growled. Harry's eyes flitted to his flowing sleeve, where the coils of the snake flexed almost imperceptibly, and shook his head to silently answer Bacid's question.

"What's the matter, Potter?" asked Draco with a smug grin. "Scared of me are you?"

"I saw you and thought another troll had gotten loose," Harry retorted.

Draco shrugged off the insult. "Funny thing that both Snape and the bumbling idiot Quirrell go missing on the same day," said Malfoy. But it also presents you and me with an opportunity."

"Wait," said Harry, checking to make sure McGonagall wasn't listening. "How do you know professor Quirrell is missing?"

"We're having study hall with the first year Ravenclaws," said Draco. "They have Defense Against the Dark Arts right now. That means that their teacher, old towel head, is missing and no one can cover. Now about a little deal..."

Harry shrugged. "What is it?" he asked.

Draco grinned. "There's this second year Ravenclaw I've got eating out of the palm of my hand," he said. "She does all my homework for me and if you want I'll have her do yours too, for a price."

Harry's turn to smirk had arrived and he glanced at Draco. "I knew you couldn't be getting all those C's by yourself," he whispered. "Somebody had to be holding you up."

Draco's face soured. "Stuff it," he sneered. "Do you want in or not?"

Harry shook his head. "I've got more help than I need right now anyway, thanks though."

Draco walked to the front of the line with a muttered obscenity directed at Harry, leaving the young sorcerer to grin to himself. His mind quickly turned to the fact that both Snape and Quirrell were unaccounted for. Harry quickly found a spot and and sat down with his bag. Pulling out his spellbook and endeavoring to look busy, he stared down at the page and tried to think of a reason for Snape and Quirrell to both be gone. As the thoughts turned over and over in his mind, and as much as he tried to reject the notion, the only contingency that fit with all the evidence was that one of the teachers was going for the Stone and the other was moving to stop them.

_And I haven't had a chance to talk to Dumbledore..._ Harry fretted, wishing he'd gone immediately after breakfast to see the headmaster. _I can't believe it would come to a head this quickly!_ He reached inside his bag, groping for the invisibility cloak that usually never left his possession. _Shit!_ he almost yelled, realizing he'd given the cloak to Ron. Harry's hand thrust into the air, waving furiously for McGonagall's attention.

"What's the matter?" asked the professor, stopping behind Harry. "You look like Miss Granger during an extra credit quiz."

Harry produced a small copper token from his robe and held it out for McGonagall to see. "Very sorry professor," he said. "But I needed to return this to professor Dumbledore yesterday. It's important that he gets it back immediately."

McGonagall straightened up and folded her hands. "Well then I'm afraid you've missed your chance," she said. "Professor Dumbledore left late last night for London. He and Hagrid are to speak before the Ministry of Magic on … a rather important matter."

Harry's face went completely blank. Realizing that he had just run out of options, Harry turned away from the professor in red and stared intently down at his spellbook. "Oh," he said. "I see. Well thank you."

McGonagall looked down her nose at the student for a moment, before shrugging and walking away, leaving the young sorcerer frozen in place. A cold sweat broke out across Harry's forehead and trembles ran down his arms. _Think, think, think, think..._ he tried to jump start his brain, but the very idea that either Snape or Quirrell was making a move for the Stone paralyzed him with fear. He reached instinctively for his cloak one more time, desperately wanting to disappear without expending his own energy, but his hand met with nothing but the bottom his bag. _That's it! _he exclaimed in his mind. _I need the cloak!_

Two hours later the tallest tower of Hogwarts echoed with the drum of the great iron bells, alerting the entire school to the time. Almost immediately the doors to professor Sprout's burst open and a great flood of students clad in red and gold spilled into the hall. Neville, Hermione, and Ron walked among them, talking and joking amongst themselves.Quick as a thought, Harry, dressed in Gryffindor robes, walked out of an alcove and joined the procession of students.

"Ron," he said, grabbing his friend by the shoulder and continuing forward, not giving him the chance to stop moving. "Where's my cloak?"

"Harry?" Ron muttered in disbelief. "What are you- why are you dressed like-"

"Where's my cloak?" Harry interrupted. By now Hermione and Neville had noticed him though both kept walking.

"What are you doing here?' asked Hermione. "Shouldn't you be with Professor Dumbledore?"

Harry shook his head. "Dumbledore's gone. Whoever is going after the Stone is making their move. Ron, I need my cloak right now."

Ron stammered for a second, but Hermione beat him to speaking. "You're not going down the trapdoor," she hissed, casting about to ensure no unnecessary attention had fallen on them. "Not no but never."

"I'm out of options, Hermione," Harry answered. "With Dumbledore gone I can't trust anyone but you three and I need to get that Stone before Snape or Quirrell. Now Ron, where is my cloak?"

Slowing down so the group of four students fell back to the rear of the procession, Ron turned to Harry. "I left it in my room," he answered, his expression growing deadly serious. "And I'll only get it for you on one condition."

Neville tried to interrupt, stepping between harry and Ron. "What are you two talking about?" he broke in.

"Quit joking," Harry growled, ignoring Neville.

"We're going with you," said Hermione. "If you're going down the trapdoor, then so are we. Don't bother telling us we can't," she said before Harry could answer.

"Where are you two talking about?" Neville interjected, grabbing both Hermione and Harry by the wrists and catching both by surprise. "Quit butting me out of this."

Hermione looked at Ron and nodded to Neville. Almost immediately Ron put a hand on Neville's shoulder and pulled him away.

"C'mon, I'll explain on the way," said the Weasley before turning to Hermione and Harry. "Meet you two at the trapdoor. "

Hermione looked up at Harry as Neville and Ron split away from the group. "This is all happening awfully fast," she said nonchalantly, scanning the students ahead of them and watching for a good chance to disappear into a side hall.

"I worried that it might," he answered as the two of them ducked down a narrow passage and walked to the stairwell at the end. "But that doesn't matter. All that counts is getting to the Stone first and hiding it."

"How do you plan on doing that?" asked the girl, quickly ascending the stairs with Harry.

"My cloak of invisibility should work," he answered. "Snape said it could keep anyone from scrying on the wearer or divining their location, which Dumbledore confirmed. So, I'm just going to get the Stone wrap it in the cloak, and bury it until Dumbledore gets back. He can take it from there."

"Sounds good," said Hermione, leading the way down another narrow corridor and doubling back down a flight of stairs.

"You and Ron sure seemed prepared," said Harry, walking out into the main chamber of Gryffindor Tower. Looking up and down from the landing on which he stood, counting the number of moving stairways in both directions, he quickly judged that they were on the fifth floor. "Have the two of you talked this over much?"

Hermione nodded and shifted her bag on her back. "We both suspected you might try to investigate what the dog was guarding," she said. "And we both agreed that we'd go with you if you did."

Harry sighed as a flight of stairs, leading down, crunched into place at his feet. Following Hermione down, the young Sorcerer realized he'd left his spellbook in study hall. He shrugged and continued on, knowing no one could open it without his first undoing the lock with his own magic. "I wish you wouldn't insist," he muttered.

"Too bad," said the girl as they arrived at the third floor corridor and ran to the end. Hermione stopped at the single door at the end of the hall and pressed her ear to the wood. Closing her eyes and listening for a moment, she stepped back. "I don't hear anything."

"I'll bet they moved it out," said Harry. "Probably took it to London."

Hermione sat in the hall and pulled her bag up beside her, drawing out her spellbook and setting it in her lap. While Harry leaned against the wall, Hermione opened the massive volume and began silently reading over one of the pages of runes. Ash she prepared a series of spells, Harry closed his eyes and tried to center himself, gathering up and taking stock of the magical energy boiling just beneath the surface of his skin. As they waited for Ron and possibly Neville, both spellcasters prepared themselves in their own ways.

Hermione closed her book with a heavy thud and looked up at Harry. "I know you're a sorcerer," she said.

The declaration stabbed into Harry like a knife and he squirmed to remain calm. Breathing deeply, he kept his eyes closed and focused on readying as much energy as he could. "Very funny," he said. "What brought that on?"

A moment passed before Hermione answered. "When we fought the troll together, you worked spells no first year should know, that was the first big tip off," she said. "And that made me watch more closely so I started picking up on little mistakes and clues."

"Such as?" Harry asked.

"When you cast a spell you never get the verbal component right," she said. "You just mutter some random Latin word to cover it up. You try to hide the material components after you're done with a spell, but I've noticed you using the same components over and over in class. You don't handle your wand right, and all of your spells go off with a green hue to them and without any hint of arcane heat... trademarks of sorcery."

Harry grinned nervously. "I thought you probably knew," he said. "You're too smart not to pick up on any of it. But why tell me now?"

Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat and ran her hands over the cover of the book in her lap. "I want you to know you can trust me," she said. "Your secret's safe... and," she paused and looked up at him. "And you really need to work on keeping your secret better. It might work right now, but if you don't learn to hide your tells then someone will notice. Honestly I can't believe the teachers haven't picked up on it."

"Alright, alright," said, opening one eye and glancing between Hermione and the door. "If you insist, I promise I'll work on it."

"I do," Hermione said. "Now where is Ron?"

"If he lost my cloak, I'll-" Harry stopped and put his hands behind his back. "Probably survive it and move on," he joked.

The pair waited in silence for several minutes until two figures came jogging around the corner to the hallway. Harry and Hermione got to their feet as Neville and Ron stopped in front of them. Triumphantly grinning, Ron reached into his bag and handed the warping cloak over to Harry.

"Sorry," said the Weasley. "Neville insisted that we prepare a few cantrips if nothing else."

Neville scowled at Ron. "Because if you're going to do this then it would be better to come as prepared as we can be and not have to lug around a bunch of heavy spellbooks." He turned to Harry and Hermione. "I still don't know what's going on here," he said. "But I'm not letting you do this alone."

Harry grinned, looking around at the three other students. "I don't know what I did to deserve three friends as good as you guys," he said, drawing his wand, "but I'm glad you're all here."

Hermione cleared her throat and turned to face the door, drawing from her robe a small wire twisted into the shape of a key. Pointing her wand at the lock and whispering a word, she held out the imitation of a key and braced herself. In a searing flash, the wire burned up and the tip of Hermione's wand glowed a dull purple. She gritted her teeth as the reaction, but held her hand steady as the lock clicked.

"Alright," Harry said, holding up the invisibility cloak, ready to throw it over their clustered group. "Ron, care to have a look?"

The Weasley nodded and stepped forward while Hermione positioned herself behind Harry. Ron grasped the handle and took a steadying breath, hand shaking as he pulled on the latch. The hall filled with a quiet creak as the door's hinges shifted and a small seam of dark appeared along the side of the iron frame. Ron poked his head around and studied the scene for a second.

"I can't see anything," he whispered back. "And it's quiet... give me a second." The boy popped open one of the buttoned leather pouches on his belt and drew out a the remains of a small insect, a firefly Harry guessed. "Anyone got a stone or something?"

"Gotcha," Neville said, handing Neville a marble from his component pouch. "I hadn't planned on needing to transmute anything anyway."

Ron held the marble and the dead firefly in one hand and pointed his wand at the two objects. Muttering a command, the firefly winked out of existence in a puff of wispy smoke, and the marble flickered with an inner light. Quickly shifting his hand through the door, Ron tossed the marble into the dark room just before the little glass sphere lit up like a torch, casting a bright enough light to clearly illuminate the empty room beyond the portal.

"There's nothing," said Ron. "The dog is gone," he pulled the door open and stepped inside, quickly followed by the others. As Harry shut the door behind them, Ron walked to the center of the room where the glowing marble sat, and picked up the little orb. "We've got about ten minutes before this goes out," he said.

"Better hurry then," Harry added, walking to the trapdoor and searching for a latch until his fingers fumbled across the metal keyhole. "Great," he sighed. "This one's locked too," he gave it a quick tug and found the door firmly shut, then looked up to Hermione. "Any more Open spells ready to go?" he asked.

"I only prepared two," she said. "If I use this one here then that'll be it."

"Hold on," said Neville, stepping forward while Ron held the light high. The bigger boy knelt down by the trapdoor and reached into his robe. He grinned, looking up at Ron and pulled out a small vial of a sickly green substance. "And you didn't want to take the time to get ready," he said, popping the cork on the vial. Carefully, Neville dripped a single globule into the locking mechanism on the trapdoor and pointed his wand down at the latch.

A command word escaped the boy's lips and the lock instantly began to fizz and hiss. Sounding more like boiling water than melting metal, the lock deformed and began to cave in. "Now," Neville ordered, and Harry heaved on the door. Giving a little before snapping like a twig, the weakened lock broke and Harry jerked the trapdoor open.

"My grandmother taught me that one over break," said Longbottom. "I didn't think I'd be using it so early." He rubbed his hands together and put the vial back in his robe.

Harry scooted to the edge of the wide pit in the floor and peered over the edge, down into the inky depths. "So," he said, "who wants climb down the dark hole in the castle full of things that want to kill us?"

Stepping up next to Harry, Ron held the shining glass sphere over the black, illuminating a shaft running straight down for farther than the light could reach. The redhead looked over at Harry, then turned back to the hole and dropped the marble. Falling and lighting up the perfectly walls as it descended, the marble seemed to hang suspended for only a second before falling into a patch of green. All four students now gathered around the pit peered down at the mass of what looked like green vines.

"What do you think?" said Hermione, kneeling down and reaching into her bag. "Thirty feet?"

"Sounds about right," Harry answered, still staring down the pit. "Maybe a little less, but I still wouldn't want to jump it."

"Won't have to,"said the girl, pulling out a coil of silk rope.

"Just carry that around with you, do you?" asked Ron.

Hermione smirked. "You thought _you_ came prepared," she said. "I've read about great wizards being brought down by situations simpler than this. Sometimes the most mundane necessities are the most important. Besides," she tossed one end of the rope down the pit and handed the other to Harry, "what's wrong with a girl walking around with fifteen feet of rope in her pack, just in case?"

Harry shook his head and looked down the pit, fingers tightly grasping the rope. "It's not long enough," he said.

"Which is where magic does come in handy," she pointed her wand at the rope and whispered an order.

Growing warm, hot even, in Harry's hands, the rope began writhing like a snake. Harry had to tighten his grip as the slick cord seemed to grow thinner, but expand down the pit, dangling off only a few feet from the green floor beneath the pit's exit.

"It should be about twenty-three feet long now," Hermione pointed out, "we can drop the rest without too much trouble."

"Alright," Harry wound the rope around his hands another time and braced his feet, readying to hold the rope secure. Drawing on a small portion of magic, Harry directed the energy into his arms and his feet. He felt his muscles tighten, passed the point where they would normally ache, and his feet grow unnaturally heavy. "I can hold it on this end."

"Then I'll go first," said Ron, stepping up in front of Harry, motioning to Neville for aide, and dropping one leg down over the edge. "See you on the other side." He carefully lowered himself down on the ledge, until both feet dangled in the pit and only Neville holding his hands held him up. Gingerly gripping the rope to avoid throwing Harry off balance, Ron transferred his weight to the silk lifeline and began letting himself slide himself down.

"No worries!" Ron called up the shaft after a moment. He'd almost reached the end of the rope. "It looks perfectly stable," he said, "but there's some giant plant down here!" he yelled, now hanging freely in the room below, not supported by any walls. "It covers the entire floor and I don't see a door."

"Hold tight," Harry shouted down the shaft. "I'm going to pull you up!"

"Don't worry," Ron answered. "I think it's safe," he let go of the rope. Above, Harry pitched backwards until Hermione and Neville caught him, while below Ron dropped onto the floor of thick green vines with a muffled creak. "It's alright!" he called up the shaft, holding his arms out beside him to keep his balance. "This things as soft as a pillow! We probably don't really need the rope!"

"Still," Harry muttered, frowning and repositioning by the end of the pit. "Not taking any chances. Whose next?"

Neville lowered himself partway down the shaft, just as Ron had, before letting go of the ledge and shifting his weight onto the rope. While Harry held him steady and Hermione watched with a readied wand in one hand and a down feather in the other, Neville slid down the rope. A case-study of control, Neville maintained a steady pace, looking up and down at regular intervals to check his distances from the top and bottom.

"Neville's so much braver than people know," Harry grinned as he felt the rope go slack and heard Neville land on the vine covered floor.

"You think?" Hermione mumbled.

Harry nodded. "It's buried pretty deep, but he's got real courage. Just look at how far he's come in less than a year... going from the crying boy on the Hogwarts Express to someone willing, no, insistent on following his friends into very real danger."

"True," said Hermione, leaning over and grabbing the rope. "You've got a plan to get down?"

Harry grinned. "You know me," he said.

Sliding down the rope, Hermione smirked back. "Better believe it," she said, before turning her attention to the slowly approaching floor. Reaching the bottom of the rope she let go and dropped onto the vines. Both Ron and Neville were there to steady her as the vines almost pitched her down.

"Harry?" Neville called up. "How are you going to get down."

Harry felt the serpent hiding in his sleeve, tighten its coils around his arm to get his attention. "That's a very good question," Bacid hissed. "How do you plan on-" Harry jumped over the edge without a thought and began falling to the floor below. He felt Bacid wrap around his arm like a vice in response, and Harry snapped his fingers. As soon as the three students below called out or gasped in surprise, a puff of magic left Harry's chest and his plummet slowed to a lazy crawl. The sorcerer grinned and tapped his sleeve.

"Feather Fall," he said as the rope fell passed him down the pit. "It's a wonderful spell for a Quidditch Seeker to learn."

"Never," Bacid hissed, his voice as oily calm as ever, "do that again."

Harry landed on the green floor as Hermione coiled the rope and Ron walked to pick up the glowing marble. "Well that was fun," Harry began. "Where's the-"

Hermione screamed and Ron shouted in surprise. A green blur of motion knocked Neville to the ground and Harry's feet shot out from under him. In an instant the green vines exploded into a writhing, flowing mass of tendrils that threw the students down and rose up like a arms made massed snakes. Shell shocked, laying on his back, Harry tried to roll out of the way as one of the arms of vines came crashing down on him, but found the air knocked from his chest as the rock hard vines smashed him to the ground.

"Devil's Snare!" Hermione screamed. "Fire! We need fire or sunlight right- Gack!" She choked on the last word as the churning mass of vines sucked the students into its inky core.

Harry felt himself being crushed from every angle as the vines ground him wrapped around him like enormous constricting snakes. Over the deafening drone of the grinding plant, Harry could hear Ron shouting that they were all dead. Fighting panic in the dark, Harry reached for his magic and forced his hand up, finding nothing but more of the coiling, writing plant.

"Burn!" screamed the sorcerer, using the last breath in his lungs.

Lighting up the interior of the plant like noontime sunlight, throwing heat and twisting shadows in all directions, a ball of searing light as intense as the sun leapt to life in Harry's outstretched hand. The Devil's Snare shrieked like a wounded animal as the miniature sun instantly burned away several of its tendrils, and the rest of the tentacles scurried away from Harry. The sorcerer dropped through the plant as it retreated from him, landing by sheer luck on his feet when he found the floor a meter beneath him.

"Burn!" he shouted again, pouring more energy into the little sun. The fiery orb exploded out to the size of a large beach ball, and Harry shoved it into the core of the plant. Shrieking again, the Devil's Snare seemed to catch fire all at once as if it were made of dry brush and burn to cinders in a flash. Losing control of the magic, Harry instinctively mentally heaved to dominate the spell and force much of the energy back into his reserves, releasing the rest in a blast of hot smoke.

Shouting in surprise, Hermione, Ron, and Neville all dropped to the ground below, amidst a steady snow of Ash. They collapsed in a heap around Harry, who swooned and stumbled to catch himself on the wall. As the other students took a moment to get up, Harry leaned against the concrete surface, putting his hand up to his head as if the motion would easy the throbbing wracking his brain.

"Way too much," he muttered.

Neville, clearing his throat before he spoke and still unable not to sound frightened, approached the young sorcerer. "What in the world was that?" he asked.

"A weakened Wizard's Dawn," said Harry. "Dumbledore taught it to me..." He straightened up and looked around at the other students, wincing in sympathy pain. Ron, Neville, and Hermione had all been ground up fairly bad by the Devil's Snare. None of them had escaped without most of their exposed skin rubbed completely raw by the vines, and their robes all but shredded. Feeling a stinging pain wrapping around him like a hot wind, Harry looked at his hands, which were raw all over and bleeding at the knuckles.

"I feel like we just went through a meat grinder," Hermione muttered, touching her cheek and drawing her fingertips away bloody. "Thanks," she smiled at Harry. "The Devil's Snare was masticating us."

"Ew," Ron's face went sour and he shifted awkwardly away.

"Masticating," Hermione groaned. "Like chewing your food."

"Oh," Ron muttered. "I knew that."

Hermione shook her head. "Pervert."

Neville took a long look around the room, looking through the falling Ash and point off to the far end of the chamber. "Well there's the door," he said, crossing the room and stepping up to the closed iron portal. As he listened intently, pressing his ear against the cold surface, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stepped up beside him.

"Hear anything?" Harry asked, still wincing through the stinging. A quick spark of realization striking him, Harry tapped his sleeve, luckily one of the only parts of his robe not to be shredded beyond repair. He felt Bacid coil a little tighter and whisper that he was fine.

Neville pulled away from the door and shrugged. "No. Not with my ears still ringing."

"Let's see what's waiting for us now," Harry said, taking the handle and pulling on the door.

The heavy iron plate, cast in a checkered pattern, opened in silent hinges into an enormous room lit by flameless torches set in the walls. Stepping inside, the students cautiously looked about as their footsteps echoed off the checkered black and white marble beneath their feet. Statues, some as standing as tall as ten feet high, stood motionless on the enormous squares of marble, like two armies silently facing one another.

"It's a giant chessboard." Ron muttered, pointing to the statues of castles, horses, and humanoid figures. "Only the white side is missing a few pieces..."

"And there's the door," Harry grinned, pointing towards the opposite wall and walking passed the white figures. He got to roughly the center of the board, the others following behind him, before it occurred to the young sorcerer that he was currently in a castle stocked to the brim all manner of dangerous magical artifacts, searching through one of the most dangerous sections of that castle, looking for a powerful item guarded by nightmarish monsters.

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. "Wait," he said, bringing the others to a halt. "There's no way it's this easy..."

"I was thinking the same thing," muttered Neville. "There's got to be some trick to this."

"Like what?" asked Hermione, she took a step forward. "What could-"

A metallic ring filled the air as the line of pawns, hunched figures each bearing a pair of scimitars, all drew their swords and formed an interlocking wall of metal between the students and the exit. Hermione gasped and jumped back as the three boys all took cautious steps away from the pawns. As they stepped back the line of statues, stretching from one wall all the way to the other, relaxed and went back to a less threatening stance.

"It's a game," Neville muttered. "We have to play."

The four students looked at each other and turned back to the white statues opposite the darker ones.

"A bishop, and the queen are missing," Ron muttered, grinning through the anxiety building in his mind, before glancing at the black side before turning back to the white. "And both of our knights are missing their riders. One for each of us, how convenient."

Ron walked back to the white statues and walked between them for a moment, before stopping at the king's knight, and climbing into the saddle of the rearing marble horse. "Neville," Ron ordered, voice growing firmer. "You take queen's knight, Hermione, you take bishop, and Harry, you take the queen's position."

Neville walked up to the other horse without complaint and slung himself into the saddle. Hermione walked to the queen bishop's spot and Harry stepped into the queen's position.

"Why do I have to play the queen?" asked Harry.

Ron looked around as the glowing orange lights along the walls shifted to a deep red and grew brighter, filling the expansive chamber with an infernal hue. "Does it really matter?" he asked, his heart rate rising as chamber grew hotter, as if in answer to the lights turning red. "Just get ready because white goes first. C2 to C4!" Ron ordered.

In spite of expecting it, all four students twitched in surprise as the heavy marble statue to Neville's right shifted forward, sliding across two squares and covering ten feet in all. A moment passed and a pawn on the opposite side of the board slid forward I answer to the move.

"E2 to E4!" Ron ordered, prompting another pawn to slide forward.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Hermione whispered to Harry as the black side made its move, positioning a knight.

Harry shrugged. "Ron's the best I know," he said. "If anyone can beat whoever we're playing, he can." Both Harry and Hermione turned as the black side's queen, a tall figure carrying a halberd took several steps at an angle across the board and stood in front of Ron's pawn. Lifting the halberd, the queen smashed down on the pawn with the hammer fixed to the end of the pole, crushing the statue with a resounding boom. The queen took several more strikes at the destroyed figure, pulverizing it into dust before moving into its square.

The four students all watched in horror as the queen raised her halberd over her head triumphantly. A ghostly wail filled the room as she screamed a war cry and plunged the butt of her weapon into the ground beside her. Slowly, Hermione, Harry, and Neville all turned to look at a petrified Ron. The Weasley sat wide-eyed in the saddle and swallowed hard.

"Great..." he muttered. "We're playing for keeps..."

"Ron," Harry called. "Are you sure you've got this?"

Turning quickly to the young sorcerer, Ron took a second before he nodded. "I'll keep you all out of the way," he answered. "I'll just have to think a little harder is all."

Over the next hour, Ron and the invisible will guiding the enemy pieces exchanged blows and moves. Each time one piece claimed another, smashing or hacking it to rubble, a guttural or baleful scream filled the room, shaking the student's to their cores. More than once, Ron had to move one of his friends into a position directly beside an enemy piece but Harry, Neville, and Hermione all obeyed without complaint and took their places. The only comfort Harry could take was that he only had to move up next to a piece Ron ordered his to capture, and the opposing statue would crumble and give up its place to the young sorcerer.

Dragging on into its second hour, the board gradually cleared. Neither side was quick to risk its tokens, and Ron especially took great pains to keep his friends away from dangerous positions, never gambling with their safety. Often, Ron would sacrifice a decisive advantage over the black side to keep Hermione or Neville safe, but the toll began to wear on the young wizard. His expendable forces were failing him faster than he could push the other side back, and Ron kept discovering his plans had to risk one of his comrades.

"Harry!" Ron shouted from the far end of the board. "Move to E7!"

Harry spotted the position and he sucked in a truncated breath. "Are you joking?" he called back, spotting the square flanked by his opponents bishop and threatened by its knight.

"Trust me!" Ron called out. "It will be alright!"

Harry steeled himself and walked forward, passed Hermione, and stood next to the black bishop. The statue wearing the miter turned its head and looked down at him, gripping its glaive in both hands and staring at him with an eyeless face. The young sorcerer felt his blood go cold as the bishop took a step passed him and positioned itself to threaten Ron's king, reinforced by the dark rook.

"Alright, alright," said Ron, out of breath. "All according to plan..." He ordered Neville to step in and destroy the bishop, to which the black knight responded by shifting away and destroying Ron's last rook. "This is it then," the young wizard muttered, looking between Hermione, whose line of threat now passed directly by the opposing king. "Harry," Ron shouted. "You see what I want you to do when I move to take the king's other bishop?"

The sorcerer looked at the board, taking a moment to study the possible outcomes of such a move, and immediately turned back to Ron. "No!" he shouted. "Ron, that's out of the question!"

"You see what you can do," Ron straightened up in his saddle, lip quivering. "Put the king in checkmate!" he ordered, before telling his mount to move forward and attack the dark king's bishop.

Watching with his breath held, Harry felt his heart leap into his mouth as Ron's horse reared up and smashed the bishop with its hooves. He ignored Hermione as she called out to ask what was going on, focusing instead on the enemies queen as she turned to glare at Ron.

"Check!" Ron shouted.

Without hesitation, the enemy queen gripped her halberd and stomped across the board, clearing the way to the king for Harry as she stalked towards Ron. The Weasley boy's facade of resolve crumbled and he squeezed his eyes shut as the queen raised her halberd over her head with an earsplitting howl. Swiping down, she smashed the axehead of the weapon into the pommel of the knight's saddle, pulverizing the horse in an instant and throwing Ron to the ground in a heap.

Hermione's face went pale. "No!" she screamed, starting forward.

"Stop!" Harry shouted, filling his voice with a compelling magic and freezing Hermione where she stood. "Don't move."

"Ron!" she answered, pointing to the fallen wizard but unable to run to him.

"Wait, just wait!" Harry shouted back, barely finishing his sentence before running from his square to the position next to the enemy king. "Checkmate!"

The king, easily the tallest figure on the board and carved in the image of an armored soldier with an enormous clamor, dropped to one knee with a thud, and released its sword. The weapon fell squarely at Harry's feet and a mournful cry sounded inside the king's armor, echoing out into the chamber. The cry seemed to quench the harsh red torches, as they returned to their more subdued green hue. Without waiting another second, Hermione ran to Ron and Neville jumped down from his horse.

"He's bleeding," Hermione stammered, holding the unconscious wizard in her arms and cradling his head. "He must have fallen hard."

"I'm just glad he's not dead," Harry sighed, kneeling down and examining their wounded companion. "Looks like he hit his head," he went on as he spotted the bloody mat of hair on the back of Ron's skull. "That could be nasty."

"But he's alive," said Neville, turning and looking across the room at the door set in the opposite wall. "Should we go back?"

Harry shook his head. "We can't now, we've come too far."

"We can't leave him," Hermione looked up at Harry, tears in her eyes.

"I wouldn't ask you to," he answered, staring across the checkered floor to the door on the other side of the room. "Hermione, you stay here with Ron. Neville and I will keep going."

"What?" Hermione and Neville both turned to him.

"Unless you want to leave him stranded," Harry gestured to Ron, "then it's the only option, because I'm going to go get the Philosopher's Stone, no matter what."

Neville lowered his chin and reached up to rub his eyes, as if to wipe away the fear painted on his face. "I've come this far," he answered. "I won't quit now."

Hermione took a deep breath and looked down at Ron. "I'll wait here," she said. "You two need to promise to come back though."

Helping Hermione move Ron to the comparative safety of the corner of the room, Neville and Harry carried their helpless companion as carefully as they could, before leaving him exclusively in Hermione's care. The two boys crossed the room one last time, coming to the door opposite that through which they'd come, and Harry put his hand on the knob.

"You sure you're ready?" Harry asked, the doorknob clicking in his hand.

Neville's eyes darted between Harry and the door. Pursing his lips and sucking in a breath through his nose, Neville nodded quickly. "We shouldn't let anything on the other side see Hermione or Ron," the boy whispered.

Pulling the door open, Harry and Neville stepped through immediately and shut the iron hatch behind them, only stopping to look around once they'd entered the chamber beyond. Wands drawn the students took a few careful steps into the dim sewer of a chamber. Walking down a shallow ramp that faded away into a pool of stagnant and inky water, the boys could see only by the light of a torch, set in a sconch on the room's far wall. As they walked farther, only the sound of their wading in the silent pool breaking the silence, the water gradually deepened until Neville and Harry found themselves knee deep in the obsidian pool.

Neville gasped and froze. "Something bumped my leg," he hissed.

The sound of a single drop of water striking the pool rung like a bell in the chamber. Harry stood motionless only a pace ahead of Neville as the plip echoed off the distant walls, growing quieter but remaining eerily audible.

"Keep walking," said Harry, taking another step and motioning for Neville to do the same.

"There is is again," Neville croaked. "Harry there's something in the water."

Looking towards the door and the torch, Harry guessed the distance to be less than twenty meters, but given the water's steadily increasing depth, it seemed to the sorcerer entirely possible that they'd have to swim before the end. He looked at Neville, pointed to his eyes and motioned to the far door. Neville nodded and tensed.

"On three," Harry muttered, turning in the unnaturally still pool, hearing a another plip of water somewhere in the distance. "One... two... Three!"

Shattering the silence in a torrent of splashing,Neville and Harry dashed for the door. The ground beneath their feet dropped off as the invisible plateau ended, and both boys splashed completely beneath the surface. Harry instinctively tried to scream as something sharp snagged his ankle. His whole left leg burned as a sudden jerk sucked him downwards and drove the barb farther into his ankle. Mind swirling in terror, Harry clutched at his wand and pointed it down towards his foot.

As a burst of magic left his chest, Harry felt an explosive shockwave tear through the water. The claws jabbing into his ankle went slack for a second, and Harry felt Bacid tighten his grip. As realization dawned on him that he didn't know which way was up, Harry simply kicked and flailed his arms to swim away from the monster in the darkness, but the claw in his leg again held him back. A stabbing pain erupted in his thigh as a second and possibly a third barb dug into his flesh and began yanking him down.

His lungs burning, Harry again pointed his want down towards his leg and unleashed another ray of magic. The dim bolt of green energy flashed and crushed into Harry's leg, driving the three barbs he saw in even deeper, but severing them from whatever thick appendage to which they had been attached. Harry spotted for only a second the nebulous shape farther down in the incalculably deep pool before the next tendril racing up to grab him faded into the darkening water as the light from the spell faded.

Heart racing, Harry turned and tried to kick for the surface, feeling his fingers poke through the ceiling of water only an instant before a bone crushing force crashed in on his leg and sucked him back down into the darkness. Harry couldn't even tell if his eyes were open as they throbbed in their sockets. His whole body screamed for want of air, and a third time he took aim with his wand. Expelling the last stale breath in his lungs Harry cried out and unleashed a prismatic spray of energy from his wand. The weaving band of light washed his already burning leg in fiery pain, but again severed the tendrils and illuminated the two appendages retreating back towards the shape in the deep below.

Harry gasped in a breath of air as his head broke through the water. His hair dripping down his face and blinding him, Harry reached out randomly and felt for anything solid he could grab. Just as his fingers struck a stone ledge, a tight grasp closed around his wrist and began pulling him out of the water. He recognized Neville's voice as the Gryffindor student pulled him from the water and away from the ledge.

"I've got you Harry," Neville barked, his voice sounding far away to the sorcerer. "Are you alright?"

Laying on his back, Harry reached up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He tried for a breath, but could only roll onto his side and heave the water out of his airways. "I've been better," Harry coughed before gagging and spitting up another mouthful of water. "Glad you're alright," he looked up at Neville.

"What was that thing?" Longbottom asked, pressing his back to the wall by the door and staring intently at the once again unbroken surface of the obsidian pool.

Harry wiped his mouth and nose on his sleeve. "I don't know and I don't care," he muttered, pushing himself up to his feet. "You tried the door?"

Neville shook his head. "I wanted to get you out first."

Looking back across the surface of the water for only a second, Harry quickly made sure he hadn't lost anything in the water. Satisfied that all of his possessions were still in place, he turned back to Neville and nodded to the door. "Let's just get this over with," he said.

"What happened to your leg?" asked Neville.

Pausing, Harry looked down at the black barbs, not dissimilar from fishhooks the size of eagle talons, poking out of his robe and pinning the fabric to his leg. As soon as he saw the wounds they began to sting, then burn. Harry reached for the magic in his chest, knowing he couldn't use the energy to heal the wounds, and bent it with his will to deaden the pain.

"I can keep going," said the young sorcerer as the puncture wounds went numb. "Let's move."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight – Pawns

Closing behind Neville and Harry with a definitive boom, the heavy iron door fell into position as its lock clicked shut and sealed it in place. Harry glanced about, fighting the distraction of his numb leg, and immediately saw the figure standing in the center of the amphitheater of a room. His back to the two students, Quirrell's palid eyes glanced at the two intruders via the tall mirror standing before him. Locking eyes with the man, Harry saw the face in the mirror smirk.

"Well this is a pleasant coincidence," said Quirrell, his voice oily as he turned around to face the boys. Holding out his arms he let his flowing pomegranate sleeves dangle down to the floor. "I was expecting Snape to be honest, but this should prove much more enjoyable."

Harry stepped in front of Neville and walked down the pair of sand colored steps onto the main level of the room. "I knew it would be either you or professor Snape," said the young sorcerer, mustering all his defiance. "You were the one who broke into Gringott's looking for the Stone, you were the one who let the troll into the dungeon, and it was you who tried to kill me during the Quidditch game. All while Snape was trying to stop you."

Quirrell's grin widened and grew malicious. "Very good," he said, clapping his hands once. "You and Severus, you and Severus, both as clever as foxes- No, clever as snakes, to see right through my scheme. I guess I couldn't turn you against old Snape in the end, but that's alright I suppose. He doesn't factor into my designs anymore, not after I learned that I didn't absolutely need you to get to the Stone."

Taking a quick glance passed Quirrell to the gold mirror beyond, Harry winced to see absolutely nothing reflected in the glass. "You're not going to fool me," he answered. "I found the letter from Snape in your office. I know you forged it to throw Professor Dumbledore off."

Quirrell's eyebrow snaked up his forehead and his countenance took on a hue of amusement. "Snuck into my office, did you?" he asked. "I can only imagine how you got passed all of the wards I set up specifically to keep snooping brats at bay. But it's funny to say that you intercepted an intercepted letter. Snape penned that report to Lucius with his own hand and sent it off by owl. I'd still be sure his loyalties lay with Dumbledore if I hadn't gotten it first."

"What?" Harry whispered. "Snape couldn't have written that. He's loyal to Professor Dumbledore."

Quirrell shrugged nonchalantly and looked towards the door. "You won't believe me one way or the other, but you might as well know that Snape indeed wrote the letter. In fact, it was that letter that threw such a kink into my plan that I had to disappear to reassess my position.

"You see," Quirrell began pacing back and forth, "I knew from the start that I was unlikely to find the Stone at Gringott's, since odds were that Dumbledore had it moved here. Without a good reason however, the old oaf might have simply left it somewhere, hidden in a random desk in a back room protected by divination counter-measures where I'd have to search for years to uncover it the old fashioned way. I broke into the vault anyway because I needed him to place it under lock and key in the most secure location he could devise. That way I could simply track the resources our beloved headmaster devoted to its protection and thus discern its true location. After that it would be a simple matter of peeling back those defenses one at a time until I could claim the Stone for myself."

As Quirrell began laying out the bare details of his scheme, Harry glanced back at Neville. The two boys, through the fear evident on both faces, agreed silently on the necessary action and nodded to one another. As Harry remained motionless, Neville began taking slow and cautious steps around the raised perimeter of the room, wand in hand.

"Snape however," Quirrell exclaimed as though discussing an exciting aspect of one of his classes, "turned out to be a complete wild card. After I intercepted that letter of his I had no way of knowing his true intentions. He might be genuinely working for our Dark Lord, in which case his mistrust of me was simply born of his own ignorance or misdirected zeal. Or he could still be working for Dumbledore. Were that the case it would mean that he'd meant for me to intercept the correspondence, and as I couldn't rule out that possibility, it left me with but one option. I had to test the idea that I didn't need you to get to the Stone after all. If that proved true, then my job would be done... and if it didn't then all I would have to do would be wait until summer and then take you from those muggle zookeepers of yours." Quirrell grinned, but his eyes flitted from Harry up to the massive door. "Where's-"

The man in the turban took his eyes off Harry for only an instant to cast about for Neville and spot the boy sneaking into position behind him. The professor swore and raised his wand, pointing it at Longbottom, but the instant Quirrell had looked away Harry had readied his own action. As the sorcerer loosed a breath of his magic, his wand shook and the ecru chamber filled with a sound like the striking of an enormous iron tube. Quirrell turned back just in time to see the emerald bolt of force race towards his face, but too slow to move out of the way. The professor's head snapped to one side as if a sledgehammer had struck him in the jaw, and he spun to one knee.

Harry, feeling the exhaustion beginning to ache in his chest, took aim again as Quirrell stood up. The teacher's face was already bruising a violent purple, but both mages raised their wands towards the other. Quirrell's implement danced through a quick pattern as Harry's jerked and again clanged like a bell.

The missile of emerald light shot for Quirrell's skull, but warped around the professor as the man in the turban shielded himself with his wand. Manipulating the emerald energy with a twirling of his dark implement, Quirrell grinned and turned on Neville, flinging the dancing light at him. Gasping Neville jumped to the side as the missile of force slammed into the wall behind him him, demolishing the stone and sending shrapnel spraying in all directions.

"Snape isn't the only one who can counterspell," Quirrell laughed as Neville went limp and tumbled down the short steps to the floor. "And I'm better than even him in that regard!" Quirrell drew from his robe a tiny glass cone, flicked his wand, and muttered a command.

Instantly Harry felt the air grow frigid around him as the crystal cone in Quirrell's hand vanished in a puff of smoke. A blast of arctic air blew from Quirrell towards Harry, and the sorcerer ducked and spun around, covering his head as the icy wind washed over him, chilling him to his core, making his hands burn with the cold. The moisture drained from the air in a flash, condensing on Harry's exposed hands and cracking his already near-frozen skin.

Dropping to his hands and knees, Harry gasped for air, sucking in the frigid breath and coughing as he did. The arid air seemed to freeze his lungs and sucked the moisture from the boy's mouth and nose. Harry, too chilled to react, could only hang in the air as Quirrell, suddenly behind him, picked him up and flung him by his collar. Landing hard on his shoulder and rolling to the mirror, Harry looked up as Quirrell walked slowly towards him. He boy's mind screamed for his body to move, but the arctic cold lingered in Harry's limbs, paralyzing his muscles.

"You look like a proper little Yeti!" Quirrell growled, grabbing a handful of Harry's hair and hoisting the boy up to face the mirror. "Now tell me! What do you see!"

Forced to look on the reflective sheet of silver, for a moment Harry could only see himself, looking as though he'd just been drawn from a night in a freezer, and Quirrell. Before the boy's eyes the vision melted away and the gold-framed silver went black. The surface of the mirror rippled like the surface of a lake and through the undulating glass, Harry saw a woman with fiery red hair and eyes that sparkled green. She looked passed, or maybe through Harry, chilling the boy through to his bones, and glared at Quirrell. Harry shivered, feeling quite clearly from the lightning in the woman's eyes that the figure in the glass wanted nothing more than to annihilate Quirrell.

Then another image washed over the surface of the mirror: Harry, standing alone in the sand colored room. The reflection of the boy grinned back at him, and reached into the pocket of his black and green robe with one hand, holding a wand made of gold in the other. Harry's reflection drew out a red stone, not unlike a ruby the size of a tennis ball, and slipped it back into his pocket. The real Harry, still hung like a caught fish in front of the mirror, felt his own pocket grow a little heavier as the vision faded and the mirror again showed only reality.

"There's something," Harry muttered, the numbing cold beginning to give way to an infernal burning that covered him from head to foot. "Your ugly face," he tried to laugh.

Quirrell gritted his teeth and threw Harry to the ground. The man's strength baffled the young sorcerer. "That was hysterical," Quirrell growled, stalking towards the boy. "I might need you to get the Stone out of that mirror, but no one ever said I need you in one piece!"

The professor jerked forward as something struck him from behind. A boiling sphere of green liquid a few inches across blasted into his back and burst, spraying Quirrell with a hissing, fuming acid. The man in the turban whirled around, turning his back on Harry, and pointed his wand at a barely lucid Neville. He held out a fleck of amber, barked a command and flicked his wand, the component burning up in his hand. Neville screamed and again went limp as a bolt of lightning arced between his chest and Quirrell's wand.

"No!" Harry raised his hand, pointing two fingers at Quirrell's burned back. A spear of white hot light drained the last remainder of Harry's magical reserves and stabbed into the professor, punching through his shoulder and exiting out his front like a bullet. The man's left arm went limp and he shrugged to one side, turning again to Harry.

"Little bastard," Quirrell hissed, all sanity leaving his voice, throwing his wand to the ground. He bent down and picked Harry up by his throat, dangling him in the air like a toy. "I don't need magic to get that Stone from you... where is it! Where have you hidden it!"

Harry cracked a grin, gripping Quirrell's wrists as the man in the turban strangled him. "B-Bacid?" Harry managed to choke out.

"Bacid?" Quirrell growled, eyes lit up with fury. "Who-" the man's gaze turned to Harry's sleeve as a pitted black head emerged from the boy's garment.

Unable even to scream in time, Quirrell dropped Harry as the serpent's white mouth opened wide, fangs popping into position as Bacid shot forward like an arrow from a bow. Bacid's wickedly long teeth passed effortlessly through the flesh of Quirrell's neck and the snake wrapped around his throat like a bullwhip. Quirrell stumbled backwards, one good hand clawing at the snake. Bacid's head twitched again and again, the corners of his jaw pulsing as the muscles pumped dose after dose of venom straight into his gagging victim's jugular.

Finally, after the snake had drained its reserves, Quirrell got his hand around Bacid and threw him to the ground. The snake flipped over and promptly scurried away as the man in the turban choked and clutched at his neck. Mouth open, spitting and gasping, Quirrell's wild eyes turned to the door as he dropped to his knees. The loud click from the locking mechanism sounded in Harry's ears, and from his spot on the floor, the boy turned towards the portal.

Wand at the ready as he pushed the obstacle aside, Snape took a single step into the chamber. His glance shot between Harry and Quirrell as he raised a pinch of dust with one hand and flicked it into the air, weaving his wand through a quick motion and uttering a command. The dust exploded in a green flash and a crackling line of emerald energy shot through the air towards Quirrell. The man in the turban screamed as the light struck him, a pulse of green and blue particles radiating out from his chest and disintegrating him in an instant.

Watching for a second as the ashes, all that remained of Quirrell, floated to the ground like snow, Snape took a deep breath and surveyed the rest of the scene. Walking passed Harry, he crossed the room to Neville and knelt down by the boy. Harry felt himself grow light as the edges of his vision blurred. The pulsing migraine in his head gave way to a cool numbness and he laid his head back against the stone floor.

SC

Unconsciousness, unmarred as it was by pain or worry, had become dull to the young Harry Potter. His mind had sat idle, undreaming, for a span of time he didn't care to think about. Nevertheless, when the warm blanket of black began to break away and he found himself slowly rising out of the comfortable murk towards reality, he began hearing the one sound, the only sound in all of Hogwarts that genuinely annoyed him: the scratching of a quill pen's nib on parchment. That ubiquitous, omnipresent, tugging and pulling sound as the nib began running low on ink filled his head and made his eardrums ache for what felt like hours as him mind began to stir.

_Who could be writing so much?_ he wondered as the scratching went on. _Is someone penning a novel or are they just copying every book in the library by hand?_ He tried desperately to ignore the noise and go back to sleep, but soon the tugging sound of the pen, coupled with the sensation of warm light on his face overpowered his drowsiness and Harry opened his eyes.

For a brief moment all he could see was white. His eyes ached and he squinted, but gradually the dazzling blindness faded and the colorful ceiling high over his head took shape. He felt the feather mattress pressing at his back, and the warm pillow tucked behind his head. He recognized the ceiling as that of Hogwarts' infirmary... he'd been here only once before, shortly after the Halloween incident with the troll, but the vaulted heights decorated with fading frescoes of satyrs and dancing veela were anything but forgettable.

The pillow creaked beneath his head as Harry turned to one side, looking for the source of the scratching and finding that beside his bed was a desk likely borrowed from the library. Sitting on a simple wooden chair, looking intently down at the vellum on which she copied line after line of runes from her spellbook, Hermione Granger sat next to a dozing Ron Weasley. Just passed Ron, Tracey Davis leaned over a small book, scanning its paragraphs and lazily turning the pages.

"Hey," Harry said, his voice more of a dry groan than the happy greeting he'd intended.

Tracey and Hermione both started and looked up from their books when he spoke, breaking into wide grins and standing up. Tracey jostled Ron to wake him while Hermione turned and sat on the edge of the bed, grabbing Harry's hand and holding it so tight the young sorcerer winced from the jolt.

"You're awake," Hermione beamed, giving Harry's hand an enthusiastic shake. "You had everybody so worried when Snape brought you back from the vault..."

Harry grinned as Ron gasped and woke up wide-eyed from a dream. "Sorry about that," said the sorcerer. "I'll try not to do it again."

"You better not," Tracey sat on the bed next to Hermione. "Not without me at least. I can't believe you'd leave me behind like that," she pouted.

"Sorry, sorry," Harry apologized again. "Next time the world needs-" He sat up in bed, twitching at the needles of pain that shot down his spine, and looking around. "The Stone," he said. "Where is it? What happened down there?"

"It's all fine," said Hermione, gently pushing on Harry's shoulder, prompting him to lie back down. "It's all fine. The Stone is safe."

"Snape showed up at the last minute," Ron interjected, walking around the bed and standing over Harry. "I was just coming to when the door to the giant chess room burst open and professor Snape came running through. He stopped just long enough to demand to know if you had gone ahead. When Hermione told him you had, the man was off again like a bat out of hell."

Harry thought for a second. "I remember that now," he said. "I saw him at the end when he... dealt with professor Quirrell." Harry looked between the three people hovering over him. "Wait, where's Neville?" he tried to sit up again, but Ron and Hermione held him down. "Is he alright?"

The three other students looked among themselves for a second.

"What happened to Neville?" Harry demanded.

"He's alive," Ron said, nodding to a curtained-off bed a few yards from Harry. "He might never be pretty again, but he'll live."

"I remember a flash," Harry said.

"A Lightning Bolt, to be precise," Hermione responded. "The spell went off half charged, but it still did more than enough to poor Neville."

Harry swallowed hard. "What did it do to him?"

"We don't really need to talk about that right now," said Tracey, smiling as Ron shifted between Harry and Neville's bed. "We've been keeping you up on your homework while you were sleeping."

Harry shook his head, trying not to think about what Neville must look like behind the curtain. "How long have I bee out?" he asked.

"Two weeks," Ron answered, watching with little amusement as Harry's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. "You got hit by a Cone of Cold so Madam Pomfrey decided to keep you comatose until you could heal up some... what did you expect? But like Hermione said... we've been keeping you caught up so when Dumbledore gets back everything should be fine."

"Professor Dumbledore still hasn't gotten back?" Harry asked, voice still dulled with shock about the length of his recovery.

Tracey shook her head. "He's been in London for quite a while. The _Daily Prophet _hasn't exactly been full of detail, but _The Quibbler_-"

"If you believe that cocked up rubbish," Hermione interrupted.

"-says that Dumbledore is fighting more for Hagrid's sake than his own," Tracey went on, before turning to Hermione. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?" she whispered.

"Well it is cocked up rubbish," Hermione whispered back. "And no, I don't."

Ron and Tracey shook their heads as Harry relaxed into the bed a little more.

"So who has the Stone?" Harry asked.

"No one," the ophidian voice made all four students jump in surprise. Snape, standing a few paces away from the bed, crossed his arms and looked over the gathering. "Study hall ends in one minute," said the teacher. "None of you wish to be late to your next hour... leave."

Harry received a few cursory glances as Hermione, Ron, and Tracey all began packing up their things while Snape stood back and watched. After a final volley of goodbyes and assurances that they'd be back after classes, the three students left, and Harry shifted up in bed. Leaning against the headboard, he turned to Snape.

"Professor," he said. "Thank you for helping back there."

Snape grimaced. "Spare me," said the teacher. "I'm here for a question, not your thanks... when you looked into the mirror," the professor said quietly, "what did you see?"

Thinking for a minute, Harry went silent and shrugged. "Myself," he said. "I was holding the Philosopher's Stone and then the real thing dropped into my pocket."

"And nothing else?" Snape pressed.

Despite Snape's completely placid demeanor, Harry believed he sensed a slight urgency in the teacher's voice. "I also saw a woman in the glass," said Harry, stopping when Snape's face softened so noticeably that the young sorcerer almost forgot to whom he was speaking. "She had red hair," he went on.

"And green eyes?" Snape's question finished Harry's statement.

"Yes, she was beautiful but I didn't recognize her," said the student. For the first time in his brief time at Hogwarts, Harry saw a smile cross Severus Snape's face. Not a cynical grin, or a mocking sneer as he'd seen countless times already, but a subdued and almost happy smile. "Professor, can I ask you a question?" asked Harry.

"I suppose that's fair," said the teacher, his demeanor quickly growing as withdrawn as ever before. "Ask."

"What was that mirror? I saw it once before, when you were arguing with professor Quirrell in the library."

Snape took a deep breath and crossed his arms. "Simple enough," he said. "Dumbledore called it the Mirror of Erised... one of his more transparently titled artifacts, but I couldn't tell you by what name it went before he discovered it."

"And what is it?" asked Harry. "Besides just a mirror, I mean."

"Call it a window into the heart if you would," said the teacher. "For what purpose the mirror was created is a mystery, but what it does, most of the time, is provide the person looking into it with a glimpse at their deepest desire. Dumbledore however recently repurposed it and charmed it to protect the Philosopher's Stone. He keyed it to release the Stone onto your person when his wards sensed your Dwoemer before it."

Harry looked down at the blanket, fiddling with it and turning over recent events in his head. "And you planned on it from the start," said the boy, "getting the Stone out of the mirror before Quirrell could figure out how to do it without me?"

Another, more cynical grin, tugged at Snape's lip. "I did." he said. "Dumbledore will likely call me reckless and callous, but I _always_ keep my promises."

"So there was a way to get the Stone out without me?"

"Perhaps,"said Snape. "But if there was, then I didn't know it."

Harry sat back, shivering once despite the sunlight warming him. "Then... then why... why did you say so in that letter," Harry demanded, frustrated and trying to remain civil. "Why were you even writing to Lucius Malfoy in the first place and why would you even think of giving him the Stone?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you," the teacher sighed. He started to turn away, but stopped in the middle of the action, and went silent for a minute. "I never gamble," Snape began, "though I may arrange events so it appears I am doing so. For months I'd been watching Quirrell, waiting for a chance and an excuse to deal with him, though I knew the latter condition would never arrive on its own.

"Quirrell had given himself over to the control of the Dark Lord, leaving no option but to destroy him before he could carry out whatever design he had in mind. Dumbledore refused to see this and insisted that we wait, his belief that you, and thus the Stone, was secure fueling his resolve. I however saw the flaw in his defense, so rather than wait until you left Hogwarts, when Quirrell would meet little resistence trying to kidnap you, I decided to goad him into making a mistake...

"I wrote that letter to Lucius, knowing that Quirrell would intercept it. My whole purpose in doing so was to plant in his mind the idea that he might not need you to get to the Stone. That way, as soon as he began going down to the vault to investigate I'd have every excuse to deal with him. I also suspected that upon finding the letter, you might decide that neither Quirrell nor myself were trustworthy and go after the Stone yourself, allowing me to find and destroy it after you unlocked Dumbledore's wards."

"You couldn't have known that!" Harry barked. "You had no way of knowing I'd find that letter."

Again Snape smirked. "Perhaps not, but after giving you the invisibility cloak, the perfect means to search anywhere in the castle with impunity, I would have been surprised if you didn't. Honestly I'm nothing short of shocked that you didn't ransack my personal study for evidence of my guilt. Then again, you probably searched Quirrell's office first and didn't bother to investigate any deeper."

Harry stopped mid accusation and sat dumbly for a moment. "You got me there."

"Nevertheless," Snape added, "the letter's primary design was to goad Quirrell. Your unlocking the Stone for me may not have been a given, but I would have been surprised if you hadn't. The only thing I didn't anticipate was your getting to the Stone before me... but it all worked out."

"Except!" Harry shouted, stopping short and glancing over towards Neville's bed. He bit his tongue and clenched his fists, remaining silent.

"Mr. Longbottom will be alright," said the professor. "I won't forget what he did for me, and neither should you forget that he saved your life... quite nearly at the expense of his own." Leaving as Madam Pomfrey arrived to attend Harry, Snape retreated without another word

The rest of the afternoon blurred by as Pomfrey's medicines began kicking in and making Harry woozy. Not remembering having gone to sleep, Harry came to some time later, feeling groggy and lethargic. Looking up at the ceiling and scanning the frescoes, darkened as they were by the nighttime gloom, Harry slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. A quiet hiss beside his bed made Harry twitch in surprise, and he looked down over the railing to spot a slithering shadow behind his nightstand.

"Bacid?" whispered the sorcerer. "Is that you down there?"

The serpent's pitted head peeked out of the darkness, into the light cast through the window by the moon, and flicked his tongue at Harry. "You've been asleep for a long time," said the snake. "My stores of venom recovered in the time you've been sleeping... and they were empty during that fight."

Harry leaned back down on his elbow, a stiffness in his side making him ache. "Thanks for that," he whispered back. "I'd be dead if not for you."

"I know," said Bacid. "I was thinking maybe you'd like to help me hunt rats in the sewer as a kind of thank you."

Harry grinned and tried not to laugh. "Sure," he said. "Sure, I think we can do that... not for a little while though. Wait until they release me from the hospital and then we can catch all you'd like."

Bacid flicked his tongue again. "Sounds like a plan," he hissed. The serpent began to slither away, following the shadows along the wall and quickly disappearing from sight. "It's good," the snake hissed from somewhere in the dark, "that you survived."

Leaning back on the bed with a sigh, Harry tried to get comfortable and looked back up at the ceiling, before another rustling noise caught his attention. He looked back to his right, towards where Bacid had slunk away, but saw nothing.

"Harry," a croaking voice muttered. "That you over there?"

The sorcerer turned and pushed himself up again, looking over towards the other occupied bed. "Neville," he almost shouted. "You're alright."

Longbottom, laying flat on his back and wrapped in bandages from his waist up to his chin, nodded just a little and smiled at Harry. "Yeah, but I hear that I'm not looking too good."

"Thanks Neville," Harry blurted. "Thanks for saving me and I'm so sorry you got hurt. If you ever need anything, let me know and I'll be happy to make it up to you."

Neville raised one hand and shook his head, as much as he could, given his wrappings. "I'm just glad I could help," said the boy. "You know what's kind of funny?" he asked.

"What would that be?"

Neville cleared his throat and, grimacing as he did so, pushed himself up to grab a glass of water from the nightstand. After taking a long drink, Longbottom turned back to Harry. "When you popped into the hallway like you did, to get your cloak from Ron and Hermione," his voice rasped less now, "I had no idea what you were talking about, but somehow I knew that whatever you were up to was important. I didn't know where you were going, but I knew that I had to go too, and when Ron explained what you were planning it only made me more determined to come along and help however I could."

"And I really appreciate it," said Harry. "Thanks Neville. Thank you very much."

"Pleasure," Neville grinned.

Pausing, Harry lay a little lower on the bed and tried not to think about the aching in his side. "Well I'm glad you're not angry," he said. "Tell the truth, I was worried you'd be more than mad at me, and not wrongly so."

Neville shook his head and lay back down. "No," he said. "In fact I think I should be thanking you too..."

"For what?" Harry asked.

"I don't think my grandmother will recognize me," Neville smirked. "When I go home I'll be able to tell her Harry Potter and I fought a dark wizard all by ourselves. A year ago I never would have thought of doing that. I never would have dreamed I'd have the courage to stand up to anyone like that, but then I met you, Ron, Hermione, and Tracey and the four of you showed me something I'd stand up for any time, to anyone at all."

"And that is?"

Neville laughed once but immediately stopped. A quick combination of a whimper and a chuckle escaped him as he pressed his hands to his stomach. "Well my friends of course," said Neville. "I've got a reason to be brave now."

"Well that makes two of us with reasons to be brave," answered the sorcerer. "We've probably got matching scars now too, you and me." Harry grinned, pointing to Neville's chest.

"Yeah, I think we do," answered Longbottom. "Mine's just a real lightning bolt is all."

SC

The following week saw Harry return to his classes. Madam Pomfrey insisted that he spend his nights in the hospital wing, allowing her to monitor his recovery from severe frostbite and several bruised bones, but gave him leave to attend classes during the day, at which point the sorcerer began to feel that life at the school was slowly returning to normal, with a few notable exceptions.

In Quirrell's absence, Snape and McGonagall took turns instructing Defense Against the Dark Arts, both attempting to make up for the previous teacher's lack of real instruction by packing the class full of information and demonstration. The class's homework load more than tripled as the teachers tried to pick up lost time.

Dumbledore remained absent from Hogwarts until late March. His return was marked by very little ceremony and even less cheer. For the first several days after his return Dumbledore declined seeing anyone other than Snape and Hagrid, who returned to Hogwarts as groundskeeper, ostensibly having won his case against the Ministry. Even Harry couldn't catch a moment with the headmaster, his status as the old wizard's aide temporarily revoked. The boy missed the headmaster's instruction, finding even the fevered pace of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts class to be somewhat less than challenging, and tried to fill the gap with whatever time with his friends he could muster.

More even than studying under Dumbledore, Harry missed Quidditch. His injuries, while less than crippling, were substantial enough to prompt Pomfrey's insistence that Harry not be allowed to play. Harry's being gone prompted many students on all of the Quidditch teams to expect a radical change in the outcome of the season... a sentiment which only intensified when Travis Davis announced that he was stepping down as captain of the Slytherin's team. However, the sorcerer's medical leave left an absence on the Quidditch field that Draco was only too happy to step in to fill. Malfoy's performance as Seeker, which lead Slytherin to one victory after another, left Harry with a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

Perhaps the most poignant reminder of the events surrounding the Philosopher's Stone, to Harry at least, lay in the constant rumors he heard circulating about himself. The boy had returned to normal life at Hogwarts expecting that he might be thought of as something of a hero but, much to his dismay, the other students, both in his year and those above him, began avoiding the young sorcerer and going out of their way not to speak to him.

More than one of the many rumors which sprung up only days after Harry's return from the vault suggested that Harry had been responsible for Neville's injuries. Another suggested that Harry had actually lured the three Gryffindor students into the vault to feed them to the Devil's Snare, and another postulated that Quirrell and Harry were secretly vampires who fed on young students. Of course Harry's friends spared no pains to point out, both to Harry and everyone else, that such rumors completely ignored common sense, but the air of mystery surrounding the events in the vault provided more than enough fuel to keep the rumors alive in the mind of the average student.

Nevertheless, as an already old winter grew into spring, Harry kept close with his friends as the five of them studied for their upcoming exams and kept trying to readjust to everyday life. Each day seemed to repeat itself over and over again. The five friends would meet for breakfast, go to classes, spend lunch together and finish up their last classes for the day, before retreating to the library to study. It was one such day late in April, while the five students sat gathered around one of the many round tables in the library, that Harry packed up his things early and stood up from the table, prompting several glances of curiosity from the other students.

"Got somewhere important to be?" asked Ron, looking up from his spellbook.

Harry nodded and slung his pack over his shoulder. "It's been three months since we got out of the vault," he said. "I've had more than enough time to recover, and I'm tired of not being able to play Quidditch so I'm going to go talk to Dumbledore and see if he'll let me back on the team."

"You sure he'll have time to talk?" asked Hermione. "He's been busy ever since he got back from London after all."

"I'll wait if I have to," said Harry. "But we haven't spoken since Christmas and I need to talk to him about a few things anyway. Quidditch especially."

"Good luck," said Tracey. "Want some company?"

Harry shook his head. "No, you guys stay here. Some of it's kind of personal."

"Alright then," said Neville. "See you later."

Tightening his pack's shoulder straps as he left, Harry walked from the library and out into one of the winding halls of Hogwarts. It had been several weeks since he last navigated the route to Dumbledore's office, and more than once before reaching the alcove with the golden eagle the young sorcerer had to stop and make sure he hadn't turned the wrong way.

"Comitis," Harry said, stepping back and waiting for the eagle to move. "Comitis," he repeated, a little louder when nothing happened. Tapping his foot on the stone floor while the statue continued to do nothing. "Great..." he muttered, stepping into the alcove and putting a hand on the eagle's talon. Glancing about the hall and finding it empty, Harry drew on a wisp of his sorcerous magic and focused it into the statue. Finding the small gemstone at the center of the statue, Harry forced some of the energy into the gem. With a quiet whir, the statue jerked and began rotating upwards through the shaft in the ceiling.

Coming into Dumbledore's personal library, Harry stepped off the lift and crossed the room to the closed door at the end. Listening for only a second and hearing a quiet murmuring on the other end, Harry straightened up and knocked. The murmuring instantly went quiet and a moment passed before Dumbledore called Harry by name and told him to come in.

Stepping over the threshold, Harry saw the old wizard sitting low in his chair opposite his mahogany desk from two other figures. One, Severus Snape, remained facing Dumbledore while the other, a younger man turned around to study the new arrival. The third gentleman, a handsome figure with solidly built features and reddish-brown hair he wore tied back, nodded to Harry and gestured to him with one hand.

"This would be the boy?" said the younger man to Dumbledore.

The headmaster nodded slowly. "Yes," he looked up at Harry. "Allow me to introduce Nicolas Flamel," said the old wizard, "one of my oldest friends."

"Technically speaking," said Nicolas with a smirk, "I am your oldest friend." He turned back to Harry. "It's a pleasure."

"Is there something you need?" Dumbledore asked Harry, looking at the student over the rims of his glasses.

Harry shook his head. "I don't want to interrupt," he said, "I'd be happy to wait."

"I think we're done here anyway," said Nicolas, standing up and patting Snape on the back. "No hard feelings my young friend."

"None whatsoever," said Severus, his face a blank sheet and his tone devoid of empathy as he looked at Flamel from the corner of his eye. "I'm only sorry our meeting had to be under such circumstances."

"There's nothing to be done now anyway... I don't have enough elixir to last me long enough to make a new Stone, and I wouldn't make one even if I did," the man stretched his hands above his head and groaned. "Still, I've got enough to last me till the wife and I can get our affairs in order." Bowing low to Dumbledore and Snape, Nicolas took his leave after a quick goodbye to Harry.

"No harm done," Snape said as soon as the door shut behind Nicolas.

Dumbledore sighed and waved his hand, prompting Snape to follow Flamel out of the room, before sinking even lower in his chair and frowning. The old wizard, Harry thought to himself, looked older than ever before, lines seeming to run deeper into his face and eyes growing a little less bright as Dumbledore set his hands on his lap and took a deep breath.

"I'm glad you're here," said the old man. "I've been meaning to speak with you for a while now."

"It's been busy lately," said Harry. "But it's good to see you again too professor."

Dumbledore smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk and glancing at Fawkes. The phoenix sat on his golden perch by the window, half-napping in the sunlight and lazily watching Harry and Dumbledore with one eye cracked open.

"I'm sorry for Severus's actions," said the old wizard. "It troubles me that he'd hatch a scheme as reminiscent of the old days as that but I suppose that he will always be himself. I don't condone what he did, but I want you to know that he would never knowingly put you in any danger. "

Harry felt bile well up in his stomach, but he bit his tongue until the spiteful anger passed. "I'll have to trust you on that," he said. "I can't say I've seen any evidence of it."

Smile fading a bit, Dumbledore stood up and walked across the floor to Fawkes, running his fingers through the phoenix's feathers and scratching his crest. "Severus is a complicated individual," said the headmaster. "And his motives are likewise complicated."

"What does he want from me?" asked Harry. "What are his motives?"

"It's not my place to tell anyone, not even you," said Dumbledore. "Severus has built his entire life around fulfilling a select few promises and that's all I'm going to say about it."

Harry nodded and stared at the relief of the eagle carved into the front of the headmaster's desk. "Alright," he said. "If you trust him then... Professor, I have to ask," the sorcerer's tone shifted and his voice grew quieter. "Is it over?"

"Is what over?" asked Dumbledore.

"This," Harry held his arms out to his sides. "All of this about professor Quirrell and Voldemort and the Stone... is it over?"

Again Dumbledore sighed and looked back at Harry. "This episode with the Philosopher's Stone is indeed over, yes. Severus destroyed the Stone and Nicolas will not make another. But Voldemort is still out there, somewhere. He still possesses a great number of loyal servants and I fear he is again growing strong. So no Harry, I don't believe it is yet over."

"I didn't think so," Harry sank into his chair.

Walking behind the boy, Dumbledore put a hand on Harry's shoulder and smiled down at him. "You needn't concern yourself about it yet. Leave the fretting to worry-withered old wizards like me and Severus."

Harry grinned and looked over towards the phoenix. "Thanks," he said. "I want to help though... however I can."

"You will," said the headmaster. "I don't doubt that your role will be an important one. For now though, you need to be Harry Potter, the first year Slytherin. Just focus on school and your friends. They're what count in the end after all, and yes." The headmaster went quiet.

"Yes what?" Harry asked.

"I'll tell Madam Pomfrey that you're more than fit to return to Quidditch, so you'd best practice to get yourself back in shape for the last few matches."

A wide smile burst across Harry's face and he jumped up from his chair. "Thank you," he started forward, ready to hug the old wizard before stopping short. "Sorry," he said.

"Perfectly alright," Dumbledore patted Harry on the shoulder. "I may be your teacher, but, if you'll allow it, I'd also like to be your mentor and friend."

Harry nodded and looked up at the wizard. "That sounds fine to me."

SC

The hissing steam from the sedentary locomotive washed over the loading platform as the Hogwarts Express blared its whistle one last time, as if to bid farewell to the students stepping down from the various cars. As parents and children helped unload luggage and great piles of suitcases and trolleys formed along the sides of the platform, a group of five stood off to one side by themselves. Hermione, Neville, Harry, Ron, and Tracey stood in a circle talking and looking about at one another to stave off the impending separation for as long as possible.

"I guess that's my number," said Ron, looking off towards the sound of someone calling his name. His mother, a stout woman flanked by three of Ron's other siblings, stood waving for him and shouting that they were getting ready to go. Ron wished everyone a happy summer, hugged Hermione and Harry goodbye, and put his hands on his cart. "Be good while I'm away," he pointed his finger at Harry, his face so serious he could only be joking. "Don't you dare go fighting any trolls without me."

Harry grinned and promised as Ron wheeled his things over to his family. A few moments later, an old woman who carried herself like a queen broke away from the crowd and waved to Neville. The young Longbottom waved back and motioned for her to give him a moment.

"Well, that's my grandmum," he said. "I'd better be going." He shook Harry's hand and hugged both Tracey and Hermione goodbye. "Till next year," he said, wheeling his cart over to Augusta and stopping beside her.

The old woman looked down at her grandson for a moment, then put her hand under his chin and lifted his face towards her. "What are they feeding you at that school," the old woman toned, her voice carrying even to Harry. "You look five years older."

Tracey, Hermione, and Harry stood around in silence, two of them knowing this was likely the last time they'd all be together for much longer than a single summer. As the station began to clear out, Hermione's parents, both respectable looking people dressed far nicer than most others on the platform, arrived and walked up to the trio of students.

"You must be Hermione's friends," said Mr Granger, a well-built if slightly pot-bellied middle aged man. He shook Harry's and Tracey's hands.

"Our little girl told us so much about you in her letters," said the woman. "Thank you for being there for her," she looked around as though she were lighting on a secret, "during the incident on Halloween. Thank you very much."

"Anything for a friend," said Harry as Tracey nodded.

The Grangers departed after another round of thank yous and goodbyes, leaving Tracey and Harry on the platform. The better part of an hour passed and before long, the pair of students stood almost alone on platform nine and three quarters.

"Your parents sure are running late," said Harry.

Tracey grinned and shook her head. "No, they would have been here before the train arrived."

"Then where are they?" the young sorcerer asked, glancing about the platform.

"I asked Travis to have them wait for me," she said.

Harry turned to the girl, a quizzical look on his face. "Why?" he asked.

Tracey stepped forward and pulled Harry into a tight hug, catching the boy quite off guard when she dropped her forehead onto his shoulder and stood there silently for a moment. After he realized what exactly had happened, Harry embraced her back and the pair waited.

"Because," said Tracey, stepping back, eyes somewhat red. "I might not get to do that again for a long time."

Harry smiled and glanced at his shoulder. "You got my robe wet again," he joked.

"Sorry," Tracey laughed. "I promise," she put up her hands in mock defense, "I won't let it happen again."

"I'm not worried about it," said Harry. "Just promise you'll write me," he went on. "Even if it's about nothing, just write."

"Same goes for you," said Tracey. "You're the one with the owl, not me."

"Good point," said Harry. "I'll send Hedwig with a letter at least every week."

Tracey nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. "Good."

They stood there in silence a while longer before Tracey finally plucked up the courage and mentioned that her parents probably wouldn't want to wait much longer. Harry commented that he'd probably kept the Dursleys waiting long enough, and together they pushed their trollies towards the illusory brick wall.

* * *

AN: Alright, thus ends the first arc, the experiment, and the gamble of posting in larger chunks. Now that I'm done with a big part of _The Sword and the Sorcerer,_ I'll be focusing primarily on _The Sun Soul_ for a while and working to get the ball rolling there. I'm not going to post a solid date on when I'll have arc two ready to post, but my best guess would be sometime between March of 2011 and the winter solstice of 2012.

Thanks very much for reading and I'll see y'all on the other side.

Peace.


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